Operation 24
by HelloElmoreHelpDesk
Summary: When she first escaped the metro, Eight had been a bit intimidated by Agent 3. Three had, after all, tried to kill her. But over time, Eight found out that the grumpy inkling could actually be quite pleasant to be around, once you got to know her. Thus, when Three asked Eight out on a date, she said yes. In retrospect, she probably should've asked what a date was first.
1. 1-1: What's a date?

Eight swore.

Pearl had shown her this game on her phone, where she had to maneuver this little inkling around a bunch of obstacles in a construction site, and it was _incredibly_ frustrating. Why couldn't this stupid, dumb, idiot inkling not just stop running for, like, two seconds? Maybe then she could actually _see_ all these obstacles, and not have to rely on Eight to tell her when she needed to jump, or super jump, or swim through ink in order to avoid them.

But _no._ She just kept _running._ Forever. Straight into I-beams and wrecking balls, like an idiot.

Inklings were so stupid sometimes.

Suddenly, her phone began vibrating wildly and emitting a chirping melodic tone, causing Eight to jump and almost fall off the couch. Right! This was a call! How exciting!

She pressed the little green button and held the phone up to her ear. "Hello!"

"_Hey, Eight, it's Three. How are you, uh. Doing?"_

"Hey, Three!" Eight said. At first, Eight had been absolutely terrified of the other agent; her standoffish demeanor paired with the fact that she had singlehandedly wiped out the entire Octarian military was pretty intimidating. But it turned out she was actually pretty nice, if a bit grumpy. "I'm just sitting at my house. Pearl and Marina are out doing their routine propaganda videos."

"_It's called the news. Up here it's not actually propaganda."_ Three paused, then quickly added, _"Debatably. Anyway, I, um, was actually calling to see if, maybe you, see, wanted to, uh—"_

"Are you okay?" Eight asked. "You seem on guard. Are you in danger?"

"_No, nothing like that. I just—look, I wanna go on a date with you maybe?"_ She'd pushed the words out at a frantic speed, almost too quickly for Eight to catch._ "To like the mall? We could like go to the arcade and eat lunch or something. Have you been to the arcade yet?"_

No, she hadn't. "What's that? It sounds fun."

"_Oh, it totally is. Well, mostly. Sometimes it's full of a bunch of fucking kids who don't understand how to take turns and scream all the time, but that's usually only on weekends so we should be good."_

Hmm. Interesting. Eight added 'fucking kids' to her very long mental list of Things Three Didn't Like, right next to 'Agent 4,' 'goddamn E-Liter campers,' and 'everything.' She was beginning to suspect Three just liked expressing contempt for the sheer principle of it.

"Well I'd love to go!"

"_Oh, r-really? Great!"_

Eight nodded before realizing that a nod was not audible. "Yeah!" she said instead. "It'll be nice to see more of Inkling culture. And it's been a while since I last saw you."

"_Yeah, it has. Well, I'm super glad I didn't, like, freak you out or anything. I'll come by and pick you up tomorrow at 10, is that okay?"_

"Mmhmm! Should I bring some of that money stuff?"

"_Uh, yeah, if you could just ask Pearl for some that'd be great. God knows she's got bank to spare. See you tomorrow!"_

"Bye!" The line went dead. Hooray! She had a 'date' with Three!

She should probably ask Marina what a date was.

Eh, later. For now, she had to help this fool of an Inkling on her phone navigate this stupid construction site. Why was she even running through a construction site? Who knows! But she couldn't stop playing!

* * *

Eight walked next to Three in comfortable silence, licking something called 'ice cream' that was both preposterously delicious, yet also painful to eat. Truly, Inklings were a strange species, sabotaging their desserts in such a manner. But, to be fair, she couldn't remember the Octarians having any desserts, so. Still a point to Inklings she guessed.

Today had been great! The arcade Three had mentioned over the phone had turned out to be a place full of computers, but for the purpose of entertainment rather than research or communications or other, productive functions. Eight had been fascinated by the variety of games that were available, especially one called 'Squid Beatz.' Three had pretty much annihilated her at every game except for 'Squid Beatz,' because, as it turned out, Three had a horrendous sense of rhythm. It was rather amusing.

Then they had eaten lunch, which, as with all Inkling food, was overwhelmingly tasty compared to literally everything she had ever tasted before arriving at the Surface. And then they had stopped for the paradoxical ice cream, which Eight couldn't help but keep licking, even though she was pretty sure her tongue was numb by now.

As they reached the entrance to the mall, Three stopped. She was looking at Eight with a fond expression, a light smile gracing her face. "I have to admit, I was kind of nervous asking you out on a date, but today has been… really great. Thanks for agreeing to come, Eight."

Eight snapped her fingers. "Oh, Three, that reminds me! I have a question."

"Shoot."

"What's a date?"

Three looked at her in confusion for a second, then started blushing, hard. She awkwardly touched her face. "Well, uh, I, uh. Shit. Fuck. I'm an idiot. I hate myself. I hate myself so much."

Ooh! Another thing to add to the things-Three-hates list! Wait, no, hating yourself was bad. Also, Three wasn't an idiot, she was actually quite intelligent, especially on the battlefield. Eight was about to tell her this when she realized Three had just run off into the depths of the mall.

Did. Did she do something wrong? She didn't understand. But it didn't look like Three was gonna come back.

Slowly, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and called Pearl.

"_Hey, kid! What's up?"_

Eight made one last glance around her for any hint of the familiar orange tentacles, but came up empty. "I think I'm going to need a ride home."

* * *

"What happened?" Pearl asked as Eight climbed into the car. "I thought you were with Three."

Eight shuffled uncomfortably. "Well, I was."

"And, what, she just left you there alone?"

When Eight didn't answer, Pearl's face changed from concerned to violent. "Aw, shit, she did, didn't she! That jerk! Urg, I don't care how much training she has, I'm gonna fuck her up big time! She should know better. Oh, just wait until Marina hears about this, she'll rip out that fucker's ink sac!"

Pearl continued in a similar manner all the way back to their house, Eight not saying a word.

"Bitch thinks just 'cause she saved your life and shit she can do whatever the fuck she wants," Pearl mumbled as she fiddled with the lock on the front door. "Thinks she can just fucking leave you on your own in the middle of the fucking mall, I mean, shit, man!" Once the lock clicked, Pearl slammed a boot into the door, sending it clattering open. "MARINA!"

"Pearl?" came Marina's voice from elsewhere in the house. She rounded the corner, and as soon as she spotted Pearl's red face, she rushed over. "Woah, Pearl, calm down! What happened?"

"Three just _left_ Eight at the mall! She was her ride and she _left!"_

Marina's brow furrowed. "What? No, that can't be right, Three wouldn't—I mean, it's only been a couple weeks, she knows that Eight's still adjusting and everything. She wouldn't leave her alone."

Pearl scoffed. "Well, Eight was there, and Three wasn't, so you tell me."

Marina turned to face Eight. "Hey, what happened? Why couldn't Three take you home?"

Eight shifted uncomfortably. She may as well try this again—hopefully, they wouldn't run away too. "Um, guys, what's a date?"

The room froze. The flush of anger drained from Pearl's cheeks, and Marina's eyes went wide. Nobody said anything for a good while, until Pearl slapped herself on the forehead. "Aw, shit! We totally forgot to give you the romance talk!"

The what now?

"Alright, buckle up," Pearl said, "because there's a lot of shit we need to go over before we can get to what a date is."

"Um, Pearlie?" Marina grabbed onto her shoulder. "Maybe I should handle this one?"

Pearl looked at Marina, looked at Eight, and then looked away with a huff. "Fine, alright. I'll be in the kitchen if you need some proper Inkling insight, though."

Marina giggled. "Right. If we need any of that, we'll be sure to get you."

As Pearl left, Marina guided Eight over to the couch and sat her down. "I'll answer your question in a bit, but first, do you mind telling me what exactly happened with Three?"

Eight nodded. She really wanted answers, but she supposed Marina deserved to know the whole story. Even if Eight didn't really understand the whole story. "Yesterday, when Three called me and invited me out to the mall, she called it a 'date.' I didn't know what that was, but she seemed really nervous, so I didn't want to ask her right then. And then you two were out, so I couldn't ask you, and then I forgot about it."

Marina nodded; Eight was having trouble reading her face. So she just went on. "Anyway. She picked me up today, and we went to the arcade, and it was a lot of fun. And then we went to this restaurant, Maritime…" Ugh, she couldn't remember the name. She hated not remembering things, especially names. "Maritime something."

"Maritime Bliss, probably," Marina supplied. "It's a pretty fancy restaurant on the mall."

"Right, yeah, that," Eight said. "The food was delicious. The whole, uh, 'date,' I guess, was really nice. And Three seemed to think so too, because she told me so. And that reminded me that I didn't know what a date was, so I asked her. And then she said she hated herself and then she ran away."

Marina sighed and rubbed at her temples. "And you called Pearl after that?"

Eight nodded. "Is something wrong?"

"No, it's just… I'm frustrated with Three. She should've known you wouldn't know what a date was."

"I still don't!" Eight grumbled in frustration. "Can you please tell me?

"You know what love is, right?" Marina asked, her face returning to her more typical, gentle expression.

"It's the emotional bond people form when they're close to each other. It enhances combat effort but can cause rash decision making."

Marina rolled her eyes. "Well, yeah, that's the definition they give us in the military. The emotional closeness is the important part though. So, for example, I feel a certain love for you. I care about you, I enjoy spending time with you, and I don't want anything bad to happen to you."

Eight nodded slowly. She understood that. She felt the same way towards Marina.

"I also love Pearl, but I love her in a different kind of way. The connection I share with her is much deeper. Have you noticed that?"

"Yeah, you two always know how the other's feeling and stuff. And you do that weird thing where you smash your beaks together when you think I'm not looking."

Marina blushed. "Yes. Well. Pearl and I share _romantic_ love for each other. It's like platonic or familial love, but it's much more intimate, and typically you only really feel it for one other person. And if you can foster a good relationship based on romantic love, sometimes people will get married, which is basically a promise to spend the rest of their lives together."

"Wow," Eight said, because, like, this was definitely not anything she'd learned in the Domes. Or maybe it was, and she'd just forgotten. But she doubted it. "Are you and Pearl married, then?"

"No," Marina said. She sounded almost bitter. "We're still just dating."

There! That word again! Wait. "So, wait, if you two are 'dating' because you romantically love each other, and Agent 3 asked me to go on a date, then—"

"It's because she's beginning to have feelings for you," Marina said.

Eight could feel her face heating up. "Oh my gosh. Wait, like, she-wants-to-spend-the-rest-of-her-life-with-me feelings?"

Marina laughed. "Don't get ahead of yourself. When two people first start dating, it's to see if they actually like each other enough to pursue that kind of relationship. A lot of the time, things don't work out, and those two people decide that they actually just platonically love each other, or maybe they don't actually love each other at all. But you don't know unless you try, and so that's what dating's for."

"Okay. But… wait." Eight frowned. "If she, um, likes me, or whatever, then why did she run?"

Marina sighed. "Well, I'm not Three, but I'd imagine she felt guilty."

"Guilty?"

"Yeah. She probably felt like she was taking advantage of you. Since you didn't know what a date was, you didn't really know what it meant to go on one. Someone could've used that to get you to agree to something you didn't actually want to do, and even though it was likely unintentional in this case, Three probably felt like she'd tricked you. And because she's profoundly horrible at dealing with her emotions, she ran away."

"Oh." Eight looked down and poked at the couch. "I… don't want her to feel that way. I had a really good time! She didn't push me into anything I didn't want to do."

"Yes, but do you think you like her romantically? Because if you don't, then you shouldn't go on any more dates with her. That will just give her false hope."

"I… I don't know how I feel." She groaned, and thrust her head into her hands. This was so weird, and foreign, and she didn't like it! Too many confusing emotions! "How do you know if you like someone in that way?"

Marina looked thoughtful. "That's not a very easy question to answer. There are a lot of ways you might know if you like someone, and it's a conclusion you can really only come to by yourself."

"Oh, bullshit!" Pearl yelled from the next room. Suddenly, she dashed into the living room, grinning like a lunatic. "I've got a surefire way to tell you if you like her!"

"Pearl!" Marina scolded. "Were you eavesdropping on us this whole time?"

"Totally!"

"You can tell me?" Eight asked in wonder. Like, sure, she understood where Marina was coming from with the whole 'you have to look inside yourself' thing, but also it'd be great if Pearl could just tell her. That would make things so much simpler.

Pearl flashed a thumbs-up. "Probably. Here, watch this."

She walked up to Marina and cupped her cheek in one glove.

Marina raised an eyebrow. "Pearlie? What are you—mmph!" She was interrupted by Pearl smashing their faces together. Their lips locked like some sort of puzzle, and Eight watched in fascination as they kept doing… whatever this was. She saw Marina's body language change from surprised to comfortable, and she started running her hands down Pearl's back. After a short while, Pearl extricated herself from Marina's grip, panting slightly and wiping her mouth.

"What _was_ that?" Eight asked.

"That's called kissing," Pearl explained. "Now, quick, imagine that you're doing that with Three!"

"W-what?"

"Imagine it! You're kissing her! You can feel her tentacles brushing your cheek! Your lips on hers!"

Eight started imagining it. Pressing her face up to Three's, feeling her hands running through her tentacles, Three's breath on her face. She wondered what would happen if she pushed her tongue—_Oh my god._

She could imagine Three's arms wrapping strongly around her, pulling her in tight as their kissed deepend. Then imaginary Three's imaginary hand slid down her back and grabbed her imaginary—

_Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my—_

"Eight? Eight!"

She snapped back to reality. Marina was looking at her with concern, and Pearl was smiling smugly. She could feel her face burning up, and her breath was coming a bit short. "What is this? What's happening?"

"That's love, baby!" Pearl exclaimed, throwing up her hands. "Told you I could do it!"

Marina rolled her eyes. "I can't believe you."

Eight had finally managed to somewhat wrestle her mind away from thoughts about kissing Three. "So… you're saying that if I successfully date her… that could be real?"

"Well, I don't think 'successfully date her' is the right way to phrase that, but I guess so," Marina said. "And there's more down the line, too."

"Really? Like what?"

"I'll, uh, tell you that if your relationship actually gets that far."

"Oh, c'mon, Marina, they're both at least eighteen."

Marina gave Pearl a look. _"Pearl."_

Pearl raised her hands in surrender. "Okay! Okay. Later."

"So… what do I do now, then?" Eight asked.

"You should probably try to find Three," Marina suggested. "She's probably still freaking over you not knowing it was a date."

"And _now_ she's probably freaking out over running away like that," Pearl said.

Eight set her gaze. "Right. Find Three, and talk about love with her."

Marina bit her bottom lip. "Maybe, uh, don't be so blunt with her?"

"Find Three, and tell her I want to kiss her."

"No, Eight, that's—"

"Yeah! Go get 'er, Eight!" Pearl shouted. "Take the world by storm! I'll drive you, c'mon!"

Marina scrambled to get off the couch. "Pearl! No! Bad Pearl!"

Pearl grabbed Eight arm, laughing wildly, and dragged her out the door, ignoring Marina's protests.

"Let's go get you a girlfriend!" Pearl shouted.


	2. 1-2: Battle Your Feelings Away

Three vaulted around the statues of Inkblot Art Academy, firing her Hero Shot "Replica" right into the back of some kid's head. He exploded into a burst of ink, and Three continued onwards through the arena, covering the floor in her ink.

She always hated turfing at Inkblot, because whenever in was in rotation, classes were suspended. And when classes were suspended, what did all those pretentious-ass art students do? They battled! Ironically, for literal artists, these damn kids had no idea how to put ink on the ground. They always tried doing fancy shit, like sneaking into enemy territory to place beakons, or doing stupid-complicated bubble blower-bomb launcher team plays. All of their strategies were unfortunately undercut by the fact that they sucked ass at fighting.

This meant that ninety percent of the time she played on Inkblot, she stomped even more than usual. Like, it wasn't even a challenge. And then the enemy team would whine about how much of a tryhard she was, and her teammates would always gloat that they were _so good_ when Three had literally carried their sorry asses so hard she'd fractured her spine, and it was just not a good time in general.

But the other stage in rotation right now was Musselforge Fitness, and the last thing she wanted right now was a bunch of fucking weight-lifting dude-bros trying to hit on her. So here she was at Inkblot, trying not to be distracted by how much she despised modern art.

She rounded a corner and saw one of her opponents in front of her, wielding a Heavy Splatling. He noticed her after a second, and began revving up his gun; Three almost laughed. He was really gonna try and fight her? At _this _range? That was so. Just so stupid.

To prove her point, she ran over to him and swept out his legs from under him before he had a chance to fire more than, like, two bullets. He crashed to the ground, and Three formed a couple burst bombs in her hands.

"You really need to switch weapons, dude," she said. "That was sad."

His face contorted with rage. "You bitch! What's your problem?"

Three rolled her eyes, and leisurely dropped the bombs onto his face. What a dick.

By the time the end of the match rolled around, Three hadn't been splatted even once. As she and her team, who she hadn't seen doing anything that whole match, emerged back into the lobby, the other team came back up furious.

"Do you get off on beating up lower levels or something? Do you really need an ego boost that badly? Is this some kind of power fantasy for you?" that boy with the splatling asked.

Three gave him an unimpressed look. "No, the match making's just shit. I'd much rather go up against people who actually pose some sort of threat."

"Why don't you do ranked, then, if you're gonna be such a tryhard?" accused one girl.

"Because I'm not fucking trying hard at all. You guys just suck. If you want to fight people more your level, _you_ should do ranked."

They shouted something else at her, but she just flipped them off over her shoulder as she walked off.

God. This was really not taking her mind off of the date as much as she had hoped. If she could even call it a date. Which she couldn't. Eight didn't even know what a date meant, and she obviously didn't feel that way about Three. Who was she kidding? She should've never called her in the fist place. She was so stupid.

Fuck, she was thinking about it again! God dammit! She'd better get in another game quick before she started spiraling big-time.

Soon, she was in another pre-match lobby. She quickly took stock of the other Inklings there: she didn't recognize any from her previous matches, which was good. Wait, was that—

"Oh my god, Three! What's up?"

"Four, hey," she greeted. Four was dressed like someone who thought they were hot shit, but wasn't hot shit, like usual, and she had her Herobrush resting over one shoulder. "I'm actually so glad to see you. Which is not something I'd thought I'd say ever."

Four smiled, which caused a shiver to go down Three's body. "Aw, c'mon, you love me."

"I'm just glad I'm gonna be able to fight someone who's actually halfway competent," Three said with a scoff. "All these assholes from Inkblot are really starting to get on my nerves."

All the other squids in the lobby shot her angry looks. She ignored them.

"Hey, don't be too harsh on Inkblot," Four said. "I went there, and it wasn't too bad."

Three's eyes widened. "YOU WENT TO FUCKING INKBLOT?!"

Four slowly nodded, and opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, they were thrust into the match. As soon as she formed, Three was off, rushing down the middle path. She reached the center at the same time as a girl with a roller, who tried to run her over; she jumped, nailed her with a burst bomb, and finished her off with a few well-placed shots. Before she had time to regain her surroundings, however, she saw an autobomb creeping up on her, and quickly dodged back just as it exploded. She turned her head, and, sure enough, there was Four, smiling at her from on top of a bridge.

"I can't believe you went to fucking _Inkblot,"_ Three said as she began firing. "This explains so much. Like why you have such bad opinions about shit. And why you're just like this in general."

Four knocked the first few shots out of the air with her brush, then dropped down from the ledge, letting the rest fly over her head. "Why do you think I'm so good with a brush?"

Three swam backwards as Four began her approach. She swung the Herobrush around with a fervor, and Three was struggling to dodge all the spray from it. "No way they taught you how to fight at Inkblot. It's an art school! For people who, like, write in cursive and shit!"

"Sure they did!" Four said, tossing out another autobomb before continuing her assault. "You need to keep a more open mind. I mean, where did you learn to fight?"

"People kept pissing me off in school, so I taught myself how to beat the shit out of them to get them to stop."

"Okay. Well. Different backgrounds, I guess."

Three threw a burst bomb at Four, forcing her dodge back and put some distance between them. She then started unloading into her, while carefully maneuvering around the autobomb. Four dodged to the left, but Three predicted it, nailing her with a couple globs of ink. Grimacing, Four's eyes began to glow, and she activated her Inkjet.

Three responded by superjumping straight up, and splashdowning straight down, right smack dab on top of Four. Easy.

She took a second to recharge her ink, then ran deeper into enemy territory. She splatted some kid with a slosher on the way—he was predictably awful—and then set about inking up the enemy's turf.

"So how'd your date with Eight go?"

Three yelped and spun around just in time to duck under a swing from Four's brush. While she was winding up for a follow-up swing, Three kicked at her stomach, prompting her to jump backwards. "How the hell do you know about that?"

"Marie told me," she said, before disappearing into her ink and swimming up onto some nearby high ground.

Three shot up the wall and climbed up after her, materializing just in time to see an autobomb waddling towards her. She leapt over it, letting the explosion go off behind her, and chucked a burst bomb at Four. "How the hell does _Marie_ know about it?"

Four sidestepped the burst bomb and shrugged. "It's Marie."

"I bet she has my phone tapped or something. Wouldn't surprise me." She threw another burst bomb.

"That's besides the point, anyway," Four said, slamming the flat of her brush into the bomb mid-flight. It exploded prematurely, and Four was only hit by a few stray splatterings of ink. "How'd it go? Did she enjoy it? Didja kiss?"

Three sighed as she continued firing at Four. "Well, it was going really great at first, but it ended… suboptimally."

Four wove in between Three's shots, stepping inside her guard and whamming her brush into Three's face. Damn, that hurt! "Suboptimally? What does that mean?"

Three dropped her shooter as the brush came in for a backswing, grabbing the handle before it could reach her and stopping it in its tracks. "Well, uh, when we were about to leave, she asked me what 'date' meant. Because she didn't know."

Four cringed as they struggled for control over the brush. "Yeah, that's rough. You said the rest of the date was good, though, right? So at least she had fun, even if she didn't really know what you were… after."

"I guess," Three said. Damn, Four was stronger than she looked—they'd been arm-wrestling over this brush for, like, ten seconds now, and it had barely moved. "But I kind of ran away after she asked me what a date was. Because, like, how do you answer that?"

Four rolled her eyes. "Gee, Three, I dunno. Maybe try 'honestly?' Also, you might wanna watch out for that autobomb."

"What autobomb?" Three looked down. Oh. That autobomb. "Well, shi—"

_Splat._

* * *

After the match had ended (Three had won, of course. Obviously. That bullshit autobomb had been only a minor setback), Four had insisted that they go grab something to eat at the cafe and talk. Three had initially protested, but, though she would never admit it, she would kind of like to talk to someone about this. And she could settle for Four, she guessed.

"So, let me get this straight," Four said, looking at Three disapprovingly over a glass of sparkling water. (Sparkling water. Fucking sparkling water. Three hated her so much.) "After poor Agent 8, our friend, whom you have a crush on, innocently asked you to explain dating to her, you ran away and abandoned her in the middle of Arowana?"

Three buried her face in her arms. "Yes, we've established that I'm a stupid asshole, thanks."

"You, uh… you realize she probably thinks this is, like, _her_ fault, right?"

"Four, this is the opposite of helping."

"Right, sorry." She took a sip of that sparkling water. Three was surprised she didn't gag. "Look, you just have to talk with her. Tell her it was a misunderstanding. And be _honest_ about how you feel."

Three groaned and laid her chin on the table, her arms hanging limply at her sides. "Ugh, but I _hate_ being honest about how I feel!"

"You're such a child."

"Hey, shut up! You're only, like, two years older than me!"

"I meant mentally. But, seriously. Talk to her."

Three sighed. "Yeah, you're probably right. The last thing I want is for her to think she did something wrong."

Suddenly, Three's phone started ringing. She pulled it out and looked at the contact.

_Eight._

"Aah! Shit!" Three shouted, before pounding the 'decline call' button. "Whew. That was a close one."

Four raised an eyebrow. "Who was that?"

"Eight. God, I almost had to talk to her! Imagine how much of a disaster _that_ would've been."

Four didn't say anything, instead opting to just look at Three.

It only took a few seconds for Three's rational brain to catch up with her. "Okay. So. As I said, we've established that I'm a stupid asshole."

Four shook her head. "Three, girl, you're my friend, but goddamn if you aren't the biggest mess of person I've ever met. Like, wow. This is some impressive buffoonery right here."

Three slumped in her chair, throwing an arm over her eyes. Four was right; she was a mess. "Well now I definitely can't fucking call her. What the hell am I gonna do?" She groaned. "I wanna fucking die."

Four giggled. "You never cease to amaze me, Three."

* * *

"_Hey. If this is fucking Danny, stop fucking calling, I'm not fucking interested. Otherwise, like, leave a voicemail or some shit, I don't care."_

_*BEEP*_

"Three?" Eight asked. That had definitely been her voice. "Is that you? Are you there? What's a voicemail?"

Pearl looked over at her. "That means that Three didn't pick up, so you can leave her a recording for her to listen to later."

"Oh! I get it." Man, the walkie talkies and radios they had underground were _so_ much easier than these phones. "Um, hi, it's Eight! I was just calling to tell you that I love—"

Instantly, Pearl snatched the phone out of Eight's hands, wedging it between her cheek and her shoulder as she refocused on the road. "Three, if you get this before we find you, tell us where you are. Eight wants to talk. We're not mad. Well." Pearl paused. "Eight's not mad. I'm still on the fence. That's all."

She hung up and tossed the phone back to Eight, who caught it and looked at it in slight confusion. "I don't understand. Isn't the point of this to tell her that I love her?"

"Well, kinda. But you don't want to come out of the gate that strong. You gotta build up to it! Like, after you've been on a few dates, and you're walking out by the docks late at night, and the moon's shining, and shit's real romantic, you turn to her and tell her that you love her. But your first time saying it shouldn't be in a voicemail! That would ruin it."

Eight made a grunt of frustration. "Why is this all so stupidly complicated?"

"Because feelings are stupidly complicated," Pearl answered. "Don't worry, you'll get the hang of it. Plus, I mean, I can't imagine Three is a particularly romantic squid in her own right, so it's not like she'd want you to serenade her from a balcony or some shit. Just try to let things happen naturally."

Eight nodded, taking a moment to process all of that. "Well, okay then. If Three isn't answering her phone, maybe someone else knows where she is." She tapped back to her 'contacts' page, and tapped on the one labeled '4.'

* * *

"Hello? Oh, hi, Eight."

Three's head snapped up, eyes bloodshot.

"Oh, you're looking for Three, huh?" Four locked eyes with Three and winked. Three gave her a look that she hoped conveyed the sentiment that if Four wasn't _extremely careful_ with her words in the next few seconds, Three would not hesitate to snap her neck right then and there. "Yeah, I was having a bite to eat with her in the Catfish Cafe a little while ago, actually."

What.

Four stood up "Mmhmm. I just left, actually, but she should still be there."

_W h a t._

"Yeah, no problem! I'll catch you later."

Four hung up, and Three glared daggers at her. Glared fucking katanas at her.

"Alright, so you just chill here and wait for your soon-to-be girlfriend to show up. I'm gonna bounce. Good luck!"

"Four don't you dare leave! I will break your neck! I will track you down and fucking rip out your intestines! FOUR!"

She smiled, waved, and left, the door to the cafe closing with a soft chiming sound. Three proceeded to slam her head onto the table, nearly causing Four's abandoned glass to fall off.

"Hey, kid, are you okay?" the cashier asked in a worried tone.

She groaned into the table. "I'm fucking dandy, thanks for asking."


	3. 1-3: Let's try this again

Eight approached the entrance to the Catfish Cafe. She felt nervous. Almost like she was running out of time on a test, waiting for the bomb on her back to go off.

Except there was no bomb this time. Just Three.

As she laid her hand on the door handle, she could hear a sharp, repetitive thumping emanating from inside the cafe, accompanied by the rattling of glass. What was going on? Was there some sort of extremely slow-paced fight happening?

Curious, she opened the door and stepped inside. The bell on the door jingled, but it was quickly drowned out by another loud _thump._ She could now see the source of the strange noise: Agent 3, banging her head into her table, repeatedly.

_Thump._

All the other patrons were staring at her with concerned expressions, but nobody was making a noise. One jellyfish was idling awkwardly at the counter, looking like he wanted to order something but not wanting to be the first one to speak.

Slowly, Eight walked over to Three, and took a seat across from her. There was a half-eaten croissant and some weird-looking water here. It seemed like someone had left in a hurry.

"Um."

Three paused right before her head slammed into the table another time, and she looked up. Immediately, she shuffled to sit up straight, grabbing the edge of the table tightly with her hands. Her face was white, except for a small trail of blue blood trickling down from her forehead. "Oh, hey, Eight. Didn't see you there."

"You're bleeding," Eight pointed out.

"Am I?" She reached up and pressed her hand against her head, then looked at her palm. "Hmm. Gimme a sec."

She stood up, pulled out her gun, and shot some ink on the cafe floor.

"Hey, uh—" began the cashier from across the room, but Three turned and looked at him, and he immediately shut up. Eight couldn't see Three's face from where she was sitting, but she could imagine. She had very vivid images in her head of Three about to kill her.

As Three bathed in her ink for a bit to heal up, Eight curiously raised the glass of not-water. It was bubbling. Why would water bubble? Her curiousity got the better of her, and she raised the glass to her lips.

Three emerged from her ink just in time for Eight to spit out the drink right in her face. "BLUH! Eww! The water attacked me!"

"Yeah, that's sparkling water, one of man's many sins against god," Three explained, reaching for a napkin. The wound on her forehead had now been reduced to a tiny blue discoloration. "It's like regular water but with carbonation."

Eight made a face. "What? That's so stupid. It's already so difficult to find clean water that won't harm us, and then you go and make it hurt to drink? I swear, half of the things Inklings invent are designed to be a waste of resources."

Three laughed. "Yeah, I'm with you there. I hate sparkling water with a passion."

Oop! Another thing that Three hates! She added it to her list. Out of all the things on this list, that was the one Eight agreed with the most. Barring, of course, 'Kamabo,' 'that dumb phone,' and possibly 'DJ Octavio,' though Eight didn't really have many precise memories of him.

"Why didn't you answer your phone earlier?" Eight asked.

Three shifted uncomfortably. "Oh. Right. Sorry, yeah, I, uh, freaked out. I didn't think you wanted to talk to me."

"Of course I want to talk to you!" Eight said. "I love talking with you!"

"So, uh, did Pearl and Marina tell you what a date is, or…" she trailed off.

Eight nodded. "Yes. And love, and romance, and stuff. It's all really confusing, honestly."

"You're telling me," Three said, then sighed. "Look, Eight, I don't have a lot of experience with, you know, healthy relationships. You didn't know what a date even meant, and then there I was, trying to start something with you, and… I'm sorry. And I'm sorry I ran. I'm… bad at… I didn't know how to explain to you that I'd just spent the last three hours thinking that you liked me when you didn't even know what it meant to like someone, and… ugh. I guess I'm just sorry I dragged you into the clusterfuck that is being close to me."

"But… I did like you," Eight said. "Do like you. So you weren't wrong. I mean, sure, I didn't really know what it meant, but… even knowing what I do now, I would do it again. I had such a great time, and I want to continue having great times with you. Especially in a, um. Dating, kissing, romance context."

Three blushed. "So you do like me? Like, for real? Wow, um, that's great! I—I'm super glad, I, um—wait. Kissing?"

"Yes!" Eight said, perking up. "I saw Pearl and Marina doing it, and now I can't stop thinking about it. Can we do that?"

"This is not how I imagined this conversation going when it was playing out in my head," Three said, her face all but melting.

"Can we do it though?"

"Um. Um. Okay, um." Three grabbed her by the arm and dragged her out of the cafe, the poor cashier sighing in relief as they left.

"Where are we going?" Eight asked as Three led her through the mall.

"Well, if we want to, uh, kiss. That's kind of personal. So we should go somewhere more private. Superjump with me."

"What?" Before she knew what was happening, Three had superjumped onto the top of a nearby clothing store. Eight followed, shifting back to her humanoid form just as she landed on the flat roof. Three was standing behind a large billboard that jutted upwards at one side of the building, blocking the view from the ground. "Are we allowed to be up here?"

"Oh, nobody cares, really. Besides, I'm Agent 3. What are they gonna do, throw me in with DJ Octavio?"

"Isn't there something where nobody is above the law? Marina told me that early on."

"Eh." Three made a so-so gesture with her hand. "It's pretty wishy washy, honestly. We'll be fine. Besides, we didn't come up here to talk about how I exist in a legal grey area."

"Right! Kissing!" Eight said.

"R-Right." Three's blush was back, but she seemed more confident, her eyes staring at Eight's lips.

"So how do we start?"

"Just go for it."

Eight nodded slowly. How had Pearl done it? She'd put her hand on Marina's cheek like this, then leaned in, and—

Three rolled her eyes, smiling softly. "Here."

Eight yelped as Three grabbed her face and pulled it onto her own, and then, _wow._

Eight didn't know what she'd been expecting, but this was—this was something else. Three's lips glided along hers as she wrapped her arms around Three's back, and the bustle of the mall below her faded into nothingness. She didn't exactly know what she was doing, but Three sure did, so Eight just kind of let her take the lead.

After a few seconds, Three pulled back, and the two of them stood there, looking at each other, panting.

"So, uh, yeah," Three said. "That's kissing."

"More," Eight breathed. She was so overwhelmed right now that one word was all she could manage; but she wanted to be so much more overwhelmed, if this was what that meant.

Three laughed, and pulled her in again. "Alright."

* * *

Eight had no idea how long she'd been on that roof, but it was long enough for Pearl to start texting her worriedly. That had 'killed the mood' as Three put it, and so the two had said their goodbyes and gone their separate ways.

Presently, Eight climbed into the car next to Pearl, buckling her seat belt. It felt so weird to be going through these everyday motions as if her entire world hadn't just exploded.

"So." Pearl gave her a curious look. "How'd it go?"

"We kissed," Eight answered. "A lot."

Pearl blinked. "Oh, shit."

"It was very 'oh shit.' I think I understand why you and Marina do it so much now."

"Well, that's good. I think."

"Question. Does Marina ever pull on your tentacles when you're kissing?"

"Uhhhhhhh." Pearl swallowed. "Did Three do that to you?"

"No, I did that to Three. She seemed to enjoy it though. After she got over the shock."

Pearl stared ahead at the road in dead silence for a few seconds. "Huh."

Eight busied herself looking out the window. There was still so much she didn't know about how the surface functioned. Now that she was paying attention, she could see a lot of Inklings and other creatures that seemed to be more affectionate with each other—holding hands, sharing food, that sort of thing. There was this whole new avenue of relationships and emotions that she had barely even begun to explore; but now she had Three to help her.

"Moving on, then," Pearl said. "Are you and Three, like, an official couple now or whatever?"

Hmm. Good question. "I don't really know. I think so?"

Pearl shrugged. "Eh. If you were really kissing that whole time, then I guess it's probably safe to say that you are. Man, the rest of us are gonna have so much material to tease Three with."

"How do you mean?"

"Eight, Three is a paradoxical combination of emotional repression and teenage angst, which manifests in her basically closing herself off to everyone. So it's gonna be really, really funny watching her try to navigate a relationship with someone who's so… you."

Eight narrowed her eyes. "And what do you mean by _that?"_

"Don't worry about it."

Eight was worrying about it.

* * *

"Hey Three!"

"GAH!" Three jumped, spun around, and grabbed her attacker by the arm, twisting them around into a headlock.

"Jesus christ, lady, it's me! Four!"

Three squinted, then begrudgingly released the other squid from the headlock. "You shouldn't sneak up on me like that."

"Yeah, I got that from your paranoid ninja instincts, thanks." Four massaged her arm where Three had grabbed her, frowning. "Did something happen, or are you always this on edge?"

Three's mind backtracked to the make out session she'd just completed. "I'm actually in a really good mood right now."

"Okay, so you're always like this. Got it."

"I'd think you'd know that about me by now."

Four crossed her arms. "Seriously? You're the most private person I know. You won't even tell me your real name."

"Well, _sorry_ if I feel like upholding the whole 'secret identity' thing we're supposed to have."

"You're kidding, right? Over half of the agents in the NSS are _literal _pop stars."

"Whatever. I don't ask you probing questions, so don't ask me any. Okay?"

"Asking your name is a probing question?"

Three rolled her eyes. "Oh my god, why do you have to make everything so difficult?!"

"I'm not the one who's—" Four stopped, taking a deep breath. "Look, that doesn't matter. What _does_ matter is how your meeting with Eight went. You said you were in a pretty good mood, so I'm assuming it went well?"

"It was fine," Three answered nonchalantly.

Four smirked and slung her arm around Three's shoulders, like they were 'friends' or some shit. Disgusting. "Oh, come on, you have to give me more details than that! Like, are you two official now? Or is it more like you—" Four stopped dead, staring at the base of Three's neck. "Oh my god is that a hickey?"

Shit. "…No?"

"How would Eight even know what that is? Did you, like, show her?"

Three ducked out from under Four's arm and shoved her hands in her pockets. "Well she wanted me to tell her more about what people do when they kiss and stuff, and I didn't want Pearl or Marina to catch her with one, so…"

"Ha, this is rich! Wait until Marie hears this!"

Three grabbed Four by the collar and pulled her in, growling. Suddenly, the fact that Four was a good head taller than her didn't seem to matter any more. "Don't you _dare_ tell her, you tiny little sack of bad opinions."

"Or what?" Four asked, voice shaky. She seemed torn between fearing for her life and wanting to tease Three as much as possible.

"Or I will remove your blood and replace it with sparkling water."

"Alright, watever, I won't tell her. Now please let go of me."

Three did, reluctantly.

"You know, you're really kind of violent."

"Only with friends. If I don't know someone very well, I just threaten them instead."

Four smiled at her sweetly. "Awww, are we _fweinds_, Thwee?"

"Not anymore. Goodbye. Please never talk to me again." Three performed a 180 heel turn and started power-walking away from Four, who she could hear cracking up behind her. Unfortunately, Four decided to follow her.

"So do you have a second date set up or what? Or, wait, would it be your third date?"

"I think it would actually still be our first date," Three mused. "And no."

"You better get on that then. You don't want to leave her hanging after making out with her for, like, an hour."

"Yeah, I'm going to, dumbass," Three grumbled. "I literally _just_ said goodbye to her. I'll call her tomorrow or something."

Four smiled. "Sounds like a plan! I'm gonna hold you to that, though."

"Oh my god. Didn't they teach you how to mind your own business at Inkblot?"

"Nope!" Four chirped, sticking out her tongue.

Three made a face. "Ew. Put that away."

Four shook her head, her tongue still hanging out of her mouth. Three just sighed; she could _feel_ the ever present bags under her eyes growing heavier. She needed new friends.

* * *

"GOD—URGHHH! I HATE THIS STUPID GAME!" Eight screeched, throwing her phone down against the couch as hard as she could.

Marina poked her head out of her studio. "Um, Eight? Are you okay?"

"No!" she exclaimed, pointing accusingly at the phone. "I had the dumb little Inkling running through the dumb stupid construction site for _seven thousand meters_ and I still didn't win!"

"Oh, is that that one app Pearl likes?" Marina asked. "Yeah, there's no actual end, it just goes on forever. You can't win."

Eight froze. Then laughed, hollowly. "Ha ha ha. Good one Marina. That was a funny joke. Of course there is an end. If there wasn't an end then that would mean I just wasted several hours chasing after a goal that doesn't exist."

"Not joking," Marina said, and Eight began to _fume._ "There are actually a lot of games like that for your phone. They're just time wasters, really. The goal is supposed to be your previous high score, sort of, but there's no hard end point."

"That. Is the _dumbest_ thing. I have ever heard. Marina, how do you deal with all of this?"

Marina giggled. "When Pearl first took me in, I almost got arrested trying to re-engineer the fuel efficiency of some dude's sports car. Inklings spend an obscene amount of money on things that are societally high class but functionally worse than cheaper options, and it drives me up the wall. I just try not to think about it."

"How did creatures so dumb beat us in the Great Turf War?" Eight asked. "Wouldn't they have been too busy playing their silly little video games that go on forever?"

"Beats me. I wasn't alive back then."

The conversation was interrupted by Eight's phone, still abandoned on the couch, beginning to ring. She grabbed it and turned it over, her face lighting up as soon as she saw the little '3' at the top of the screen. As she brought it up to her ear, Marina smiled, and retreated back into her studio, closing the door.

"Three! Hello! How are you?"

"_Alive. You?"_

"Oh, I'm just sitting in my house. Again."

"…_Right. Well, uh, I was calling to ask you on another date, actually. For real this time."_

Eight smiled. "I'd love to."


	4. 2-1: A Lunch to Forget

Three tapped her fingers against the steering wheel impatiently, looking out the window at Pearl and Marina's house. What was taking her so long? Was she having second thoughts? No, stop that, it's fine. She's probably just… doing something. Yeah.

God. Three hated being alone with her thoughts.

After a couple more minutes of steering-wheel-tapping, Three saw the front door open out of the corner of her eye, and her head snapped around to look. Eight was stepping out of the door frame when she caught Three's gaze. Immediately, her face lit up in a smile, and she began jogging towards Three's car. She was just. So darn cute. It wasn't fair.

"Hi Three!" Eight exclaimed, flinging open the passenger door.

Three looked her up and down as she climbed into the car. "Wow, Eight, you look… really nice."

It was true. She was wearing what Three presumed was one of Marina's leather jackets over a simple but elegant crop top, a loose black knee-length skirt, and some expensive-looking tennis shoes that Pearl had probably bought her.

"Thanks!" Eight smiled. "So do you!"

Three looked down at her hoodie, t-shirt, and shorts, none of which had been washed in like a week. "…Thanks."

"So what are we doing?"

"Man, I dunno," Three said, shifting into drive and taking off down the road. "I don't normally, like. Do stuff with people? So I'm just gonna wing it I guess."

Eight cocked her head. "So… where are you driving to, then?"

Three hummed. She should probably decide on that soon, yeah. "Um. The square, I guess? Are you hungry now, or do you want to get lunch later?"

"Oh, I don't really have a preference," Eight said, visibly salivating.

Three narrowed her eyes. "You're drooling."

She blushed. "This always happens when someone mentions Inkling food around me, don't worry about it."

"Jeez, what were the Octarians feeding you?"

"Nutrition blocks."

"Excuse me?" Three shot Eight a look. "What the fuck is a nutrition block?"

"It's… how would you understand…" Eight paused, tapping a finger against her chin. "You know those granola bars you have up here?"

"Yes, I hate them," Three said.

"Right, so imagine a granola bar but without any flavor and more… sawdusty? They're really dry, taste bland, but you only need to eat like three a day in order to survive, so they're very efficient."

Three felt her face contort. That was the most appalling thing she'd ever heard. "What—what the fuck. I have so many problems with that. Weren't you hungry all the time? How did you fight on an empty stomach like that?"

"Well, they said it was motivation. If we didn't do well, we weren't able to eat, so—"

"What the _FUCK,"_ Three practically screamed, gripping the steering wheel so hard she thought she might dent it. "Okay, that's it, I'm gonna take you to the best goddamn restaurant I know right this instant."

Eight waved her hands in front of her. "No no no, it's okay! I don't want you spending your money on some fancy restaurant just because—"

"Oh, yeah, no, you're paying for yourself, your moms are rich."

"They're not my moms."

"We both know that's a lie."

Eight huffed and crossed her arms, and Three couldn't help but giggle at her a little.

Instantly, Eight's head whipped around. "Did you just giggle?"

Three immediately reset to her resting bitch face. "No."

"Oh my god you totally did!"

"Shut up."

"You have a really cute giggle," Eight said, smiling warmly.

Three felt her face warm. "Shut up. No I don't."

"Yeah ya do," Eight said, laying her head on Three's shoulder. Her tentacles brushed against Three's cheek, cool and smooth.

"Y-yeah? Well, you have a cute… face," Three said, and then immediately wanted to die.

"Aw, thanks, Three! You have a cute face too."

Three swerved a hard right and pulled into a parking lot. "Oh, look, we're here. Guess this conversation's gonna have to stop. Shame." She parked as quickly as possible, and got out of the car so fast she nearly ripped her seat belt in half. She pulled her hoodie up to her burning face and looked away from Eight, who was still cracking up inside the car.

She had _no right_ to be this cute. There was like a fifty percent chance this date was gonna kill her.

* * *

A pair of binoculars peeked out over the roof of a nearby van. "There they are."

Another voice perked up, suddenly interested. "Where are they going?"

"Uh, looks like they're heading into Shellfish Indulgence."

A laugh rang softly, slightly unhinged. "Perfect! Right where we want them. Let's move out."

The binoculars came down. "No, let's give it a minute. No need to be suspicious."

* * *

Eight's eyes greedily scanned her menu, the smooth music that played throughout the restaurant sinking into her skull. "I have no idea what any of this means but it all sounds so good."

"It is," Three assured, across from her. "I mean, I don't exactly eat out often, but I've been here a few times, and it's the best food I've ever had. Well, aside from Crusty Sean's stuff, but he only serves two different kinds of foods for whatever fucked-up reason, so that gets pretty repetitive."

"How do you even decide what to get?" Eight asked. There were so many options! And they were all so complicated! Honestly, a lot of Inkling culture seemed to follow those themes.

"Just pick something that sounds good," Three said, which wasn't helpful in the least.

"Hmm." She read through the lunch menu for the sixth time: specialty three-cheese pizza, five-star lasagna platter, sauteed fish fillets—wait. "You eat fish? But don't they—"

"Not the ones who like walk and stuff," Three said quickly. "We eat the small dumb ones that are still aquatic."

Eight frowned. "That's still a bit… weird, though, right?"

"Eh." Three shrugged. "Not really. I mean, ancient squids and octopi were actually carnivorous, and they almost exclusively ate other sea life. We stayed that way for centuries before evolution and global climate change prompted some evolutionary…"

Eight's attention was caught by two strangely-dressed figures entering the restaurant. (Not that Three's monologue wasn't interesting! It was just that it was, uh… Actually, no, yeah, that was it.) They were wearing long, nondescript trench coats, hats, and sunglasses. Eight narrowed her eyes. This was weird. Was this normal for Inkling fashion? Honestly, it was very possible, they had some really strange practices when it came to clothing. Marina had tried to give her a whole lesson on it, but Eight hadn't been able to follow. She should probably just ask Three.

"…But of course once we started transitioning to omnivorism, our diets changed significantly, so—and this part is just a theory, but still—it's believed that it was actually the salmonids who first started…"

Well that wasn't happening any time soon. For someone who 'hates nerds' Three seemed to know an awful lot about obscure academic subjects. Eight looked back up at the suspicious figures, but they were gone. She frowned.

"…and since we can't really touch water, we actually buy most of our commercial fish from other species, many of which are fish themselves." Three paused. "Is something wrong?"

"No, it's—it's nothing. Why do you know so much about the historical dietary habits of cephalopods?"

Three shrugged. "Oh, you know. You just kind of pick stuff up over the years."

Well that was a vague answer. "So what are you ordering?"

Three looked down at her menu. "I dunno. Maybe the fucking, uh. Pizza? I've never gotten their pizza before. I don't think I've ever had pizza at like a sit down restaurant at all, actually. I wonder what it's like."

"We'll both be experiencing something new, then," Eight said.

Three smiled, barely. "Yeah. Guess so."

Just then, the waiter arrived. He was an Inkling, maybe a few years older than Three, and he was carrying a vase of flowers, which he set down between the two of them. "Flowers for the young couple, as requested. May I take your orders?"

"What the hell?" Three muttered, leaning forward to look at the flowers. "We didn't request anything. And how did you know we're together?"

The waiter just shrugged. Three narrowed her eyes.

Eight, meanwhile, was staring in awe at the flowers. "Oh my god, Three, look how pretty they are! We didn't have any plants like these back in the Domes. And they smell so good!"

"Huh? I mean, yeah, I guess they do." Three briefly made eye contact with Eight, then shifted her gaze back to the flowers. "There's, uh. There are people whose whole job is to arrange flowers. I think it's like an art to them."

"Look!" Eight plucked an orange flower from the bouquet. "This one's a perfect match for your natural ink color!" She leaned across the table, holding it up against Three's tentacles.

"Uh, yeah, I think that one's a daisy," Three mumbled.

Giggling to herself, Eight leaned in just a bit further, her stomach pressing into the table edge, and tucked the stem of the flower behind Three's ear. Three just looked at her, a variety of conflicting emotions flashing across her steadily reddening face, before clearing her throat and turning to the waiter, who was watching them impassively. "I'll, uh, have the pizza," she said.

The waiter nodded, then turned to Eight. "And for you, miss?"

"Oh! Um, I'll try the tuna, I think?"

The waiter uttered a small affirmation, then took their menus and left.

"I thought you said the fish freaked you out," Three said after he'd vanished into the back of the restaurant.

"Well, it's good to broaden your horizons, right?"

"Fair enough," Three said. They sat there in silence for a little while, Eight admiring the strange paintings around the restaurant, and Three absentmindedly fidgeting with the flower behind her ear as she looked around.

"I like the flower," Eight said, after a minute. "It's cute."

"Nah, it's metal as fuck," Three proclaimed, crossing her arms. "I rock this look. My enemies will see me and go, 'man, there's a bitch you don't wanna mess with.' "

"You're right, I'm sorry. It's very intimidating and not cute at all."

"There you go. That's better."

Eight laughed, then stopped. There were those trench coat people again, walking over from the hall to the bathrooms and sitting down in a booth on the other side of the restaurant.

"What are you looking at?" Three turned to look over her shoulder, immediately spotting the two figures. "Oh. Yeah, that's, uh. That's unsettling."

"I take it that's not just some weird Inkling fashion trend?" Eight asked.

"Well, I mean, who the fuck knows, really," Three said. "But I don't think so. Four's really into all of that stuff—because she's a pretentious little shit, you know?—and she definitely lacks the self respect required to know not to wear that in public, but I haven't seen her in any trench coats lately. Bottom line is that those guys are suspicious as hell."

"They're not even eating," Eight noted. "They're just… wandering around every so often."

"Where were they wandering around to?"

"Down towards the bathrooms."

"Isn't there a back entrance to the staff room there?"

Eight shrugged. She'd barely been in this restaurant half an hour by now.

"Hmm. Well." Three turned back around. "I'm not too worried. It's not like anything weird's been really happening. I mean, except for—"

She was interrupted by the waiter returning, handing them their dishes. Eight looked down at the grilled tuna; holy cow, that smelled _really good._

"And some romantic candles to enhance the mood," the waiter said, placing down some miniature candles on either side of the table.

Eight and Three exchanged a look. Three turned to the waiter. "Um. Why?"

"To enhance the mood. I thought I already said that."

"Well, yeah, but—"

"Enjoy your food! Tell me if you need anything!"

Before either of them could get another word in, the waiter spun on his heel and hurried back to the kitchen, only stopping to give the trench-coat-people a quick glance. From where they were seated, it was hard to tell if it was a conspiratorial glance, or just a confused one.

Eight raised an eyebrow. "So that was… what was that?"

Three looked tired. "I've got a theory. But for now, I say we just try to enjoy our food while we can."

Hmm. That was weirdly ominous. But, who cares, because FOOD! Eight carefully took her first bite, and then immediately followed it up with her second, and third, and fourth, and she was quickly losing count. This was so good. Oh my god. How had she never had fish before? Why was it so heavenly? Was it because it was like the natural diet for octopi, or whatever Three had been going on about?

She only paused once she heard a sharp laughter coming from the other side of the table. She looked up at Three, who had only eaten like a single slice of pizza. What a slow eater.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, it's just…" Three made that cute giggle again. "You are hands down the messiest eater I've ever seen."

Eight blushed, looking down at herself. Oh. Yeah. She saw what Three was getting at. She was getting sauce all over—"Marina's jacket!" Eight yelped, reaching over and yanking a fistful of napkins from the napkin dispenser.

"Oh no oh no oh no!" Eight whined, wiping furiously at herself.

Three managed to stifle her laughter long enough to ask, "Do you need help, or…?"

"No, I think I've got it. But thanks." She examined the jacket closely: the spot wasn't very noticeable anymore, thank god. She let out a sigh of relief. "That was almost really bad."

Three rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on. Marina's not gonna get mad at you for getting one of her four hundred leather jackets a bit dirty. Actually, I'm pretty sure Marina is physically incapable at getting mad at you for, like, anything."

"I guess you're right," Eight admitted. "But it'd be really embarrassing. I mean, I asked her for help cause I wanted to look nice, and she was so kind to give me her jacket and all."

"Hey, Eight," Three interjected. "You know you don't have to, like, dress up for me, or anything, right?"

"But isn't that what you're supposed to do on dates? Pearl said that's like a big part of it."

"Maybe for some people," Three said with a wave of her hand. "I don't really give a shit. I mean, I think you look great, but if you'd shown up in your pajamas I would've also thought you look great. Just wear whatever makes you happy, you know?"

Eight smiled. "That's… I think I like that better than what Pearl was talking about. She was going on about brands, and how certain clothes accentuate certain features, and something about exactly how much skin you want to reveal when, and none of it made a whole lot of sense."

"Yeah all of that's bullshit. Just do whatever the fuck you want and own it."

"Also, question, what are pajamas?"

"The…" Three gave her a look. "The clothes you go to sleep in."

Eight put a finger to her chin. "Interesting. When Pearl and Marina are getting ready to go to bed, they're usually just wearing—"

"Imma stop you right there," Three said, putting up a hand. "Don't need to think about that."

Eight wrinkled her brow. "I don't—"

"MMM!" Three said, taking another bite of her pizza. "Good food here, huh, Eight?"

Eight decided to just drop it, and the two of them ate in relative silence for the next few minutes.

That is, until the music started.

"Is it me, or did they just pump up the music?" Three asked.

Eight paused her eating and focused. Sure enough, the song had changed from the smooth-listening it had been all of lunch. It was still slow, but it was less jazzy, with fuller strings and simpler percussion. It reminded her of those bad romance movies Pearl and Marina liked to watch after they drank that disgusting poison they referred to as 'alcohol.'

"_Oh ho, resident lunch-goes!"_ came a voice over some speakers hidden in the ceiling. _"Hear that? Love is in the air!"_

"Why the hell does a restaurant have a speaker system like this?" Three asked. Eight didn't know how to answer, so she just kept dumbly looking up at where the voice was coming from.

"_It's that time again—Love Lunch Thursday! Which happy couple will be put on the spot to show their love today? Who knows! How exciting!"_

"Do you know what's going on?" Eight asked.

"No fucking clue," Three answered, looking more concerned by the second. "I've never heard of 'Love Lunch Thursday' in my life."

Just as she finished her sentence, all the lights in the restaurant went out, causing a lot of confused yelps from the patrons. And then, just as suddenly, a bright spotlight shone down right at their table.

Eight's eyes went wide, and she tensed, pressing her back up against the wall. The lights bore into her eyes, oppressive and unyielding, and there was blackness everywhere else. It almost felt like she was back underground. She didn't like it. She hated it. "Three? What's happening?"

"Why the hell does a restaurant have _spotlights?"_ Three seethed, her eyes darting around frantically. Her hands gripped the table and the back of the booth, ready to burst in any direction at the first sign of trouble.

"_Wow! And you're our lucky couple for the night! How romantic! Now, show us all how much you care for each other!"_

Eight's breaths were coming fast and shallow. "Three? What do we do?"

"Don't worry, I got this." She stood up, and Eight's breathing paused.

What was she going to do? Was she really going to 'show how much she cared' for Eight? Was she going to _kiss_ her or something?! She couldn't handle that, not in front of this many people!

She watched, restless, as Three inhaled deeply and threw back her head. There was a moment of chilling stillness, with only the music playing in the background; and then Three screamed.

"_GGGRRRRAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!"_

It wasn't just your run-of-the-mill average scream, either. It was dissonant, and grated on your bones. It shook you to your core, and it made you want to cover your ears, but it was also somehow beautiful—nobody could produce a scream this gut-wrenching, this disconcerting, this barbaric, without it being intentionally constructed as such. And that, in its own, twisted way, made it something of an art, one from which you would be rude to shy away.

It was still awful to hear though. Soon enough, the music cut out and the lights came back on. Three was still screaming, though. She had an impressive lung capacity.

"_Um. Ma'am? Please stop, Ma'am." _

"_HRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHH!"_

"_Please stop screaming. We're going to have to ask you to leave if you don't stop."_

"_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaa_aaaaaaah…" Eventually, Three trailed off and sat back down, calmly returning to her pizza.

Once the rest of the restaurant stopped staring (it took a couple minutes), Eight asked, very quietly: "Can we… go?"

Three immediately nodded. "Yeah. I was gonna wait until there was less attention on us, but I don't think anyone's gonna say anything. Let's ditch this place."

Three got up from the table and started walking to the door, Eight right behind her, but they were stopped by their waiter, who looked supremely uncomfortable. "Um… Are you, uh…"

Three fished a ten dollar bill out of her pocket. "Here's a tip. I know you were just following directions, but it was still a dick move. We're not paying for the food. If your manager has a problem with that tell him that I challenge him to settle the dispute through a turf war, and that yes that is something you can still legally do in Inkopolis. Also tell him not to fuck with me if he wants to keep his dignity and/or all of his limbs." She then turned to the two trench-coated-figures, who were attempting to sneak out unnoticed. "You two. Outside. Now."

Thirty seconds later, Callie and Marie were profusely apologizing to the both of them.

"Jeez, oh my god, we are so sorry!" Callie said, the words tumbling messily from her mouth. "It—it just started with the flowers, but then Eight put that daisy in your hair and oh my _god_ it was so adorable! I may have gotten a bit carried away, I'm really sorry!"

"And that whole love lunch crap was just a joke, we didn't think they'd actually go through with it," Marie said. "I mean, what, do people really just do everything pop stars tell them to do?"

"Yes," Three said. "And none of that is a good excuse!"

Marie sighed. "I know. We fucked up. We're really sorry."

"We just wanted to make your date super special!" Callie exclaimed.

"Don't lie to me," Three said, the anger evident on her face. "You wanted to tease me. And that's cool, whatever, we have that kind of relationship. I don't care. But you almost gave Eight a fucking panic attack. That isn't fucking okay."

Callie looked supremely guilty. "No. You're right." She turned to Eight. "We're sorry we ruined your date, Eight."

"Yeah," Marie said. "Seriously not cool of us. If there's anything you want us to do to make up for it, then just say the word."

Eight swallowed. "It's alright. I forgive you."

The Squid Sisters smiled, relieved; but Eight wasn't done.

"I just have one more thing I'd like to say."

"Of course!" Callie said. "Go for it."

Eight took a deep breath, then called out at the top of her lungs. "OH MY GOD! CALLIE AND MARIE FROM THE SQUID SISTERS?!"

Every head in the square turned their way, and the Squid Sisters' faces blanched with fear.

"I DIDN'T KNOW YOU WERE SIGNING AUTOGRAPHS RIGHT NOW!"

Marie slumped to her knees, her face frozen with existential dread. "Well played, Eight. Well played."

"This is where I die," Callie mumbled, holding her head in her hands, a crazed look on her face. "And I only have myself to blame."

Next to her, Three was dying with laughter. "AHHAHAAHHAHAHAH! EIGHT! Oh my god, I could kiss you! That was great!"

Eight blushed. "Um, I could kiss you too, if you want. Just saying."

"Let's get back to the car first," Three said. "This place is about to become a warzone."


	5. 2-2: Homes and Secrets

Three slammed the car door, and then slammed her lips onto Eight's. She quickly returned the gesture, and they stayed like that for a few seconds before pulling away. Three was still laughing. "Man, that was genius! You can be evil when you want to be."

Eight giggled. "Well. I was pretty angry."

Three sobered up quickly. "Yeah. Sorry about them. They get really carried away sometimes. You know; superfamous pop stars, loose grip on reality… that sort of thing."

"It's… it's okay," Eight assured. "I just need some time to cool down. Recollect myself."

Three tried not to frown. "Do you… want me to take you back to Pearl and Marina's house?" She kind of hoped not. But Eight's wants were more important right now.

Eight smiled. "You mean my moms' house?"

Three laughed. "Yeah, that."

"…No," Eight said. "I was having a lot of fun with you until, um. That happened. I want to stay with you. But maybe we could do something… not public? I don't think I want crowds of people right now."

Three nodded. That made sense. What could they do, then… well, there was always her apartment. Nobody knew the address, because she never let anybody know the address, because she didn't want anybody there. So it would definitely be a safe place to go. But, on the other hand, she didn't want anybody there for a reason. She was a very private person. She'd hate for people to suddenly know super personal things about her, like her place of residence, or her name. It would definitely be a risk.

Three looked over at Eight, sitting in the passenger's seat, hugging her knees to her chest, staring at the glove compartment. "We could go chill at my apartment if you want," she said.

Eight perked up. "Really? You're comfortable with that?"

"Yeah," she said, and it didn't feel like a lie. "Nobody knows where I live, so. Guaranteed privacy."

"That'd be nice, I think."

"Alrighty then. Next stop, Three's shitty apartment."

* * *

"So here's my shitty apartment," Three said, stepping into her shitty apartment. She looked at the embarrassing amounts of clothes and junk lying on the floor. "Sorry about the mess. I wasn't expecting guests."

"It's fine," Eight said, immediately flopping down onto Three's barely-still-hanging-together sofa. She looked around, taking in her surroundings, and Three took the opportunity to surreptitiously nudge a stray bra under an armchair with her foot. "I thought you said you hated the Squid Sisters' music," Eight commented.

"I do," Three responded reflexively, and then, suddenly, she gasped. How could she have forgotten.

How could she have forgotten all her Squid Sister merch.

In a frightening blur of motion, Three rushed through the room, scooping up her Squid Sisters pajama shirt, snatching a few CDs off of a nearby table, and then rushing over to the signed poster she had on her wall. She jumped, trying to rip it down, but she was too short. Dammit! Let's see, if she vaulted off of her radiator, she could probably grab the bottom on her way down, and—shit, Eight was staring at her.

With a defeated sigh, she let the contents of her hands fall back to the ground. "Fine! You got me. I've been a huge fan of the Squid Sisters for years. If you tell anyone I'm not speaking to you ever again."

Eight looked both amused and confused. "I don't—Three, why does it matter? Pearl and Marina are really big fans of them too, and they're not embarrassed about it."

"Because they're so damn _smug,_ okay?" Three rolled her eyes. "Can you imagine what would happen if they found out I hoard their merchandise? I'd never hear the end of it."

"But… you have a signed poster. How do they not know?"

"I got that at one of their concerts when I was thirteen," Three mumbled. "Three years before I became an agent. They don't remember faces very well. Look, their music's just really good, okay? And _maybe_ stupid teenage going-through-puberty me had other motivations to like them as well, but that was a long time ago! The only thing I even halfway enjoy about anything associated with them is their music."

Three couldn't help but avert her eyes, feeling her cheeks warm. God. This is why she didn't invite people over to her house. It was private! She was an idiot. Eight probably thought she actually _liked_ Callie and Marie now. Which, granted, was the truth, but still! What was she supposed to do now? Still keep doing the whole 'hate the Squid Sisters' thing? God!

Three crossed her arms and threw herself down onto the couch next to the giggling Eight. "Just… don't tell them, okay?"

"I won't," Eight said, leaning her head onto Three's shoulder. "Your face matches your flower too, now, you know."

"Shut up," Three said. But she let her head fall to rest on Eight's anyway. And, well, since she was already blushing… Three let her hand slide towards Eight's, tangling their fingers together. Eight perked up, a bit surprised, but smiled, snuggling closer to Three. She was warm.

"You wanna… do anything?" Three asked.

"Nope."

Three smiled and closed her eyes. "Yeah. Me neither."

* * *

_Bzzzt. Bzzzt. Bzzzt._

Eight stirred, eyes fluttering open. Where was she? Had she fallen asleep? Her bed felt weird.

_Bzzzt. Bzzzt. Bzzzt._

As she blinked the sleep out of her eyes, it began coming back to her. That's right—she was at Three's. She tried to sit up, but something was stopping her. Frustrated, she twisted her head, and—

"Ah! Three!"

The girl was practically wrapped around Eight's body, her head buried against Eight's chest. She was breathing softly, and Eight was struggling to balance her desire to get up with her desire to let Three sleep, because she was just _so_ adorable like that. But also Three was trapping her legs and had her arms wrapped around her torso, and Three was incredibly strong, so it was very hard to move.

_Bzzzt. Bzzzt. Bzzzt._

Oh! Her phone! That must've been what woke her up. With some impressive shows of coordination, she managed to grab her phone in one hand and answer.

"Hi! This is Eight!"

"_Eight, it's Marina,"_ said Marina's voice over the phone. _"I'm just checking in because you said you'd be back by now?"_

Eight checked the cheap digital clock resting on a nearby table. Oh, no! "I-I'm sorry, I kind of fell asleep. Everything's fine, I'm still with Three."

"_You… fell asleep?"_

"Yeah. I'll head back right now!"

"_Alright sweetie, I'll see you soon. Hope you had fun!"_

The line beeped dead, and Eight slipped her phone back into her jacket pocket. Alright. Now to wake Three up.

Eight placed a hand on the top of Three's head and shook it a little. "Hey, Three, wake up."

Three mumbled something unintelligible and squirmed closer to Eight. Eight groaned; this was not fair.

"Three! Wake up!" she insisted, shaking Three's head a tad more violently. That seemed to do the trick, as Three grumpily opened one eye.

"Who the fuck is in my…" She trailed off as she took in her position, and realization dawned in her eyes. "I—this—um—" She cleared her throat. "This is always how I sleep. Just so you know."

"Sure, Three," Eight said. "You're really cute when you're sleeping."

"You sound like a stalker. Also no I'm not."

"Yeah you are," Eight countered, poking her on the nose.

Three blushed and looked away. "Fuck you."

"Can I get up now?" Eight asked.

"Nah, I'm comfy," she mumbled, pressing her head back into Eight's chest. "And you're soft."

"I need to go home, Three," Eight said, struggling not to giggle. "It's getting kinda late."

"Time isn't real."

"Yes it is. Just because we invented it doesn't mean it's fake. Are tables fake?"

"Eight I just woke up like twenty seconds ago, stop with this shit."

"But, Three, I thought time wasn't real."

"Oh my fucking god." With a tremendously over dramatic groan, Three unwrapped her arms from around Eight and untangled their legs. Then, she rolled off the couch, falling face-first onto the floor and staying there. "Happy now?"

"Yes, thank you," Eight said, getting to her feet and stepping over Three. "You still need to drive me, by the way. So you need to get up."

"Uuuuuuuugh. I hate getting up." Three shambled to her feet like she'd just come back from the dead. "Hold on. I need orange juice. I'm not awake until I've had orange juice."

As Three disappeared into her kitchen, Eight pulled a small notebook out of her jacket, and jotted down 'getting up' on her List of Things Three Hates. It was getting pretty sizable at this point. She heard the sound of muted chugging in the background, and put the list away just as Three burst back into the room.

"Alright. Where the fuck did I put my keys." She dove into a pile of stuff next to the couch, tossing various items out behind her.

One particular shirt caught Eight's eye as Three flung it to the side; it was collared, and had the logo of an atom on it. Eight read the text under the icon. "P. R. Hana Science Museum?"

Three whipped around. "What? Oh. Yeah, that's, um, the Inkopolis science museum."

"What's that?"

"It's a place people go to see exhibits of the latest technologies and stuff. It's half educational, and half trying to impress people with obscure science stuff."

"Do you go there often?"

"I work there, actually," Three said, rubbing the back of her head. "Part time."

"At a science museum? Does that mean you're a scientist?"

Three cringed. "Er… no. I give tours."

Eight looked at her blankly. No matter how hard she tried, she could not imagine Three giving a pleasant tour of anything. She barely normal-smiled; how would she fake-smile?

"Let's just say I tend to switch day jobs often. I'm lucky I get some extra pay from my agent work. Without that, well… I dunno."

Eight turned the uniform over in her hands, coming across a name tag. She squinted. "Who's Amy?"

Three froze, staring at the name tag with the most fear Eight thought she'd ever seen on her face.

Eight frowned. "Three? Are you okay?"

Three sprung forward, grabbed the shirt, and threw it across the room. "You need to get home, right? Let's go."

"Wait—what about your keys?"

"I know how to hotwire a car."

"But aren't they right there?" Eight asked, pointing at a set of keys sitting on a small table, next to the clock.

The two of them exchanged a look, then darted forward, scrambling over furniture and nearly tripping on stray clothing.

"Ha!" Eight exclaimed, snatching the keys just as Three reached out her own arm. "Got em!"

"C'mon, Eight," Three intoned. "This doesn't have to be harder than it needs to be."

"Who's Amy?"

"Give me the keys!" Three screeched, leaping forwards.

Eight yelped as Three's flashed towards her, almost as if in slow motion. She was so fast; she always had been. And her eyes were… fiery. Not like the kind eyes she'd been seeing these past few weeks, and not like the vacant eyes she'd seen during her escape from the metro, on the elevator platform. No; these eyes called back to the first time Eight had met Three. When she'd just been another Octarian soldier in Three's way. Eight's memories of that fight were still hazy, but there was something lingering, something resting, in the back of her mind, and it told her that she should be _afraid._

Reflexively, Eight dropped down and rolled to the side, grasping at her waist for the octoshot that wasn't there. Three stopped, turned, met her eyes, and paused. "…Eight? You okay?"

"Yeah," Eight said, after a beat. "You just startled me a bit. Let's go."

Three nodded. "Right. Okay. Sorry."

* * *

"You know I would never hurt you, right?" Three asked, hands on the steering wheel. They were the first words of the drive home, ten minutes in. "I want—I need you to know that."

"I know," Eight said. "It's not your fault. Nothing's your fault. I just need to be stronger."

Three's expression grew hard. "No, that's not how that works. Don't put this on yourself. You went through hell."

"But it's over now," Eight said. She wrapped her arms around herself. "So why can't I be over it?"

Three drove in deep thought for a few blocks. "I don't care how strong someone is. You don't just get over something like… that."

"But look at you! You've fought in how many battles now, and you just walk away like—"

"No I don't!" Three said, her voice shaking ever so slightly. "I'm not over it at all, Eight! I can't even hear my own damn _name_ without feeling sick." Eight looked over at her, eyes wide. Three stared at the road ahead, teeth hard together. "I… The reason I'm so private with all of you is because I keep Three and Amy as separate as possible. If I had to deal with both of those lives at once I think I might break for real. Hearing you say my name was… scary. I want to trust all of you, and I do trust all of you, but I can't even bring myself to tell you guys my real name without freaking out and attacking you.

"So no. I don't just walk away. No one does, not from something like that, and if they say they do, they're fucking lying."

They sat in silence for a few minutes more before Three pulled up outside of Eight's house.

"Well, we're here," Three muttered. "Sorry this was such a disaster."

Eight smiled, turning to face her. "Don't be. I enjoyed it."

"You don't have to lie."

"I'm not lying, Three." Eight kissed her on the cheek. "I'll see you later."

* * *

As soon as she closed the front door behind her, Eight let out a humongous breath, eyes wide. Pearl, who had come out to welcome her home, shot her a look. "What's going on? You look like you were chased here by a shark."

"Why is dating so stressful?" Eight asked, dragging herself over to her favorite sofa and letting herself fall down onto it.

"Rough date?"

"I… think it was good," Eight said. "It was just a lot."

Pearl nodded. "I gotcha. Yeah. Get used to that."

Eight groaned.

* * *

As Eight shut her front door, Three let out a long breath. "Why is dating so stressful?" she murmured to herself.

Three was pretty sure she'd just told Eight more about herself in one day than she'd told literally anybody else in the past two years added together. Was she going too fast? Was she handling this right? God, she it was so much easier when she dated jerks. They made her look like the fucking perfect girlfriend.

She needed to talk to someone who'd get it. Driving around the block so that Eight didn't think she was just loitering in her driveway, Three pulled out her phone and typed in a number.

"_Three?"_ asked Marie's voice after a few rings.

"Hey, Marie. Are you doing alright?"

"_Well, I just finished signing about two hundred autographs, so my soul feels like a raisin and I want to eat rocks, but other than that, yeah. Need something?"_

"Just… to talk, I guess."

"_I see. Eight?"_

"Yep," Three sighed. "I dunno, I just feel like… So I kind of unloaded some shit onto her five minutes ago? I mean, it was to make her feel better, but like. It made me realize how much shit I've got to deal with. I was pretty fucked up even _before_ Cap'n and I went to investigate that utter nightmare that is Kamabo. And if she's gonna be my girlfriend, then she's gonna have to deal with all of my shit too. I don't want to put that on her right now, you know? She's still adjusting."

"_Eight's stronger than you think,"_ Marie said, simply.

"I know! I'm not trying to say she's not. It's just… I'm worried I'm not the best thing for her right now."

Marie let out a harsh laugh. _"Bitch, you don't think Eight's got shit of her own that you're gonna have to deal with too? She spent months in a hellish research facility with a broken memory, zombie Octolings, and a deranged robot that wanted to melt her down for her DNA. You're both a little fucked up right now."_

"Hey, I was also stuck in Kamabo facilities during—"

"_Oh, don't give me that,"_ Marie said, and Three could _hear_ her rolling her eyes. _"This isn't a fucking trauma competition. Look. I think your relationship is exactly what Eight needs right now. And call me crazy, but I think it's exactly what you need, too. So stop bitching and make it happen. Got it?"_

Three opened her mouth to deliver some sarcastic retort, but she came up empty. "Yeah. Got it."

"_Dope,"_ Marie said, before abruptly hanging up.

Three reclined in her seat and let out a low breath. "Stop bitching and make it happen," she repeated to herself. "Marie, out here dropping the life mottos."

With a groan, she wrenched herself upright, and shifted the car into drive. She needed to go turfing for a little while to clear her head; she'd sort through all this shit later.

* * *

Eight had managed to retreat to her room before Marina could notice her, thankfully. She knew Marina was going to ask a ton of questions about how everything went, and she was so totally not up for that right now. She was much more content to lie on her bed and pretend she was asleep.

She was worried about Three. She kind of wanted to talk to someone about it, but who? Pearl and Marina didn't know Three very well. And though Three and Four seemed to be getting along, they had still only known each other for around a month at this point. She pulled up her contacts, hummed, and selected a number.

"_Hello, Callie Cuttlefish!"_

"Hello? It's Eight."

"_Hi, Eight!" _came Callie's chipper voice. _"What's up?"_

"Oh, um. Well, I was just wondering some stuff. About Three."

Callie laughed. _"Aren't we all?"_

"Right, well. You've known Three for a really long time, right? Longer than anybody else."

"_Well, I doubt longer than anybody else at all period,"_ Callie said. _"But yeah, I've known her for a couple years now. Why?"_

"Is she… okay?" Eight asked.

Callie was quiet for a while. _"I'm not sure I entirely understand what you're asking."_

"I mean, is she doing okay?"

"_Like in general?"_

"Yeah."

"_Honestly, I've been wondering the same thing for a while now."_

"What do you mean?"

"_Well, she hasn't exactly told any of us much. I mean, heck, none of us even know her name!" _Callie let out a short laugh. Eight cringed slightly, but kept silent. _"But I mean, if you think about it—Marie and I were trained by our granddad, who was widely recognized as one of the best captains in the entire army during the Great Turf War. Four is basically a prodigy; you may not know her very well, but natural talent and hard work got her into the eyes of some very influential people, and she's one of the youngest pro battlers around. And from what I've gathered, you were one of the Octarian's best soldiers, so good you managed to get the hell out of there, and then get the hell out of Kamabo. And then there's Three, who's better than any one of us. I mean, don't tell her I said that or anything, but we all know it's true. And one of the only things she's ever told me about herself is that she never had formal combat training. She taught herself to fight by playing turf wars a lot. That's it. And she's no prodigy like Four, as far as I'm aware—I mean, don't get me wrong, she's got a lot of talent, but I once saw her go turfing for eighteen hours straight and treat it like it was nothing. She just puts in the time. I'd bet money that she's battled for over twenty four hours without sleeping in the past, multiple times. And she's not even interested in going pro or anything like that. So why does she do it to the point that she can one-on-one DJ freaking Octavio?" _

"Maybe because she enjoys the thrill of it?" Eight offered.

"_Maybe,"_ Callie said. _"But I think she uses it as a distraction, Eight. Whenever Three's stressed, she turfs. Whenever she's angry, she turfs. Whenever she doesn't want to deal with whatever's going on in that head of hers, she turfs. She throws the same kind of weirdly detached determination into her agent work; it's what makes her so good. But I've always wondered _why_ she's like that. And then I realized: if you're fourteen, and you want to get away from your home, or your parents, or school, or whatever, what's the one thing you can always do, even as a kid? You can battle._

_"She was sixteen when she joined the New Squidbeak Splatoon, and she agreed to be an agent without a second thought. She was out in Octo Valley for days at a time, and never once did she ever need to call home. And I've never heard her mention her family, even in passing. Again, though, she's never told me anything herself, so all of this is just speculation. But if I had to guess, I'd say that Three's life has been a lot more difficult than she lets on."_

"Oh," said Eight. "I never thought about any of that."

"_Yeah, well. I've known her for two years now. After all that time, you start to wonder why you still don't know her at all."_

"So… what do I do? I don't really have much experience to go off of, but I really care about her. I want to help."

"_Just be there for her," _Callie said. _"You're a good person, Eight, and trust me when I say Three really cares about you, too. She'll be there for _you_ in turn. You two are gonna be alright."_

Eight nodded to herself. "Thanks, Callie."

"_Anytime. I'll see you later!"_

"See you!"

* * *

As Callie hung up the phone, she turned to Marie, who still had her own cell phone in her hand.

"These kids, Marie," Callie lamented. "Were we this bad back when we were eighteen?"

"You still are."

"Oh, shut it," Callie chastised, hitting her cousin in the shoulder. "Don't act like you haven't been ogling Four ever since that mission."

"Callie, stop. We're just friends."

Callie rolled her eyes. "Agent 4 Factopedia, Marie. 'Nuff said."

Callie got up and strolled into the kitchen, going to the cabinet to get herself a glass of water. Her voice was still hoarse from that surprise autographing fiasco—they were lucky they'd been able to get back to their house safely without anybody following them. Fans could be… a bit much, sometimes. As she listened to the water pour into the cup, she groaned. This was so frustrating! She just wanted those two dorks to figure all their shit out and be happy. Didn't Three have a day job? Maybe she could set something up. Well, she'd have to know what it was first, and there was no chance in hell Three would tell her. Maybe Marie knew? She was pretty sure Marie had Three's phone tapped, so it was a definite possibility.

Marie appeared in the doorway, giving Callie a wary look. "I can see you plotting."

"I'm not plotting!" Callie denied, taking a quick sip of her water.

"You've got you're plotting face on."

"Marie, I don't have a plotting face."

Marie raised an eyebrow. Callie met her eye, and crossed her arms. She _didn't _have a plotting face, and she wasn't budging on that.

Marie's eyebrow climbed higher, and Callie's resolve shook.

"Okay, fine, I'm plotting! They're just so cute, Marie! So cute, but so awkward."

"Well, stop it," Marie said firmly. "Four delegated us to relationship advice only after that restaurant fiasco. No more in-person missions."

"And who gave _Four_ the authority to delegate? I'm, like, three agent numbers above her!"

"Hmm, I dunno, maybe it's because she actually got them to start dating, and we gave Eight a panic attack."

Callie sighed. "Yeah, that's fair."

"Don't worry, though," Marie said, turning around to walk towards her room. "We're the New Squidbeak Splatoon; there's no mission we can't complete. Operation 24 is no different."

Callie smirked. "Right. With us on the case, this relationship is bound to be successful!"

* * *

On the road back to her apartment, Three felt a sudden chill go down her spine. Hmm. Strange.

She figured it was probably nothing.


	6. 3-1: Transcription

Three's thumb rubbed small circles in the palm of Eight's hand. They were sitting together on a bench in the park, and Three had her head resting on Eight's shoulder as they watched the central fountain gurgle.

"The park is really pretty," Eight said.

Three shrugged. "It's alright."

"Thanks for agreeing to come."

"Yeah, whatever. I still think parks are dumb."

"I know, Three," Eight placated.

"Are patronizing me?"

"Of course not, Three."

Three grumbled under her breath. "You're lucky that you're a good pillow."

Eight laughed, and turned her head, and Three couldn't help but smile, looking into her eyes. Their faces moved together, soft lips brushing against each other. Three wrapped her arms around Eight, their tentacles intertwining together, and Three deepened the kiss.

After a couple seconds, they pulled apart, smiling and staring at each other.

"You taste good," Eight observed idly.

Three felt her cheeks heat up. "Um. Thanks. You also taste—ACK!"

Something was in her throat. What the fuck. Was that a bug? Did a bug just fly into her fucking throat right in the middle of her kissing her girlfriend? What the _fuck._ Three coughed and hacked, pounding a fist against her chest. Just her fucking luck.

"Three? Three, are you okay?"

Three wheezed, and gave Eight a look. Did she _look_ okay?! There was a fucking bug in her throat!

"Are you choking?" Eight set her jaw. "Don't worry, I've got this."

Without warning, Eight sucker punched Three right in the gut, causing her to violently jettison the fly from her trachea. _"FUCK!"_ Three yelled, then coughed a couple more times, before wiping her mouth. Her diaphragm felt fucking dented, but at least the goddamn fly was gone. Definitely worth the pain. Once she'd taken a moment to recover, she turned to Eight. "Thanks."

"Oh, any time," Eight said, as she watched the insect buzz away into the sky. "That was exciting."

"This is why I didn't want to do something outside," Three grumped. "There are bugs. I hate bugs."

Eight nodded absently, then pulled out a small notebook from her jacket pocket, scribbling something down.

Three perked up, looking intensely at the small journal. Eight shifted ever-so-slightly, blocking Three's sight. Three couldn't tell if it was intentional or not; it was certainly frustrating, either way. Eight subtly jotted something down in it a couple times a date, and Three was beginning to grow curious.

"I've been meaning to ask," she began, "what do you keep writing in that notebook?"

Eight froze mid-sentence. Her eyes shot to Three, shot to her notebook, and then back to Three. "Nothing." She finished scribbling whatever she was scribbling without looking, and hastily shoved the book back into her jacket. "Hey, do you think anyone's died in the fountain before?"

Three turned to the fountain. It was an interesting question. "Probably. I mean, people throw money in there for good luck, right? And with the public spawns, it's not like there's a high risk. I'm sure someone who really needed some extra cash decided to—" Wait. Three turned to Eight, who subtly motioned for her to go on. "Are you trying to change the subject?"

Eight bit her lip. "No."

Three narrowed her eyes. "What's in the journal? Why don't you want me to see it? Is it embarrassing? What's so important to you that you would write it down right in front of me while at the same time not wanting me to know about it?"

Eight was beginning to sweat, her eyes flicking back and forth. "Ummm…"

Three narrowed her eyes even further, piercing into Eight's soul. Eight stared back, guilty, but unwilling to give Three any ground. Their eyes were locked in a battle of wills for what felt like hours, until Eight finally cleared her throat. Three braced herself; what angle would Eight take to get out of this? She had to prepared for anything.

"Wanna go get ice cream?" Eight asked innocently. "I'll pay."

Three frowned. Damn. That was a pretty good angle. "Fine. Keep your secrets. But I'm getting three scoops."

From what sounded like a few feet to her left, Three heard someone whisper, "Now finish the kiss!"

"Oh my god!" Three whipped around, instinctually slamming an open palm straight into what turned out to be Callie's nose.

"Ow! Jesus, Three!" Callie whined, clutching at her face.

"That's what you get for stalking our dates."

"You're so ungrateful. That would've been the _perfect_ time for a kiss and you _know_ it!"

Three rolled her eyes. "Come on, Eight. Let's go."

They got up from the bench and started walking. "Does this always happen when people start dating?" Eight asked.

"Only if you're unfortunate enough to be friends with these assholes," Three answered.

Eight paused in thought. "I wonder how they keep finding out when our dates are."

Three turned and watched as Callie snuck into a nearby alley, like some sort of shitty fugitive. "Good question."

* * *

Eight sat at her desk, trying to arrange her notebook and two pieces of paper so they all fit without overlapping. She had enough new items in her notebook to update the master copy of her list. She uncapped a pen, and, in systematically perfect handwriting, titled the blank paper "Things Three Hates." Then, right under that, "Edition 2: Alphabetized!" because alphabetization was the only truly impartial organization method for lists, and she wanted this to be as impartial as possible, as this was supposed to be an accurate reference material.

Then, she set about the arduous task of transcribing items.

_Art students_

_Autobombs_

_Being honest about how she feels_

_Bras_

_Callie_

_Danny (Still don't know who this is. Should I ask?)_

_DJ Octa— _

"Whatcha working on?"

Crap.

Immediately, Eight jumped up and whipped around, one hand holding her pen like a shiv, and the other flat on her desk, doing a shoddy job of obscuring the documents. "What's it to you?" she asked darkly.

Pearl smirked. "Oh, hah! Now I've gotta see! You're not writing love letters to Three or anything, are you?"

Eight reddened. "What? No! That's—No! It's nothing."

"C'mon, let me see!" Pearl insisted, like the nosy little _didizaste_ she was.

Bluh. Only _Pearl_ could make Eight start breaking out the Octarian curses.

Pearl pushed past Eight to look at the lists on her desk, and started cracking up. "Oh my god."

Eight sighed, defeated, and waited uncomfortably as Pearl read through her list. After a couple dozen seconds of giggling, she let out a gasp. "'Pearl while she's rapping?'" Pearl read. "Did she really say that?"

Eight nodded. "That's pretty good though, all things considered. That means she doesn't hate you at other times, which puts you above Callie, Marie, and Four."

"Yeah, but it means she specifically doesn't like my rapping, which is just ridiculous. I mean, my rapping's great!"

Eight sucked in a low breath, and decided not to say anything.

"You know, Four seems to be on here an awful lot. It's, like, a fourth of the whole list."

Eight sighed, thankful for the subject change. "Yeah. There's even more in my journal that I'm gonna have to transcribe onto the second version. It's getting a bit out of hand, honestly."

Pearl gave a laugh. "You're gonna have start bundling them into categories!"

"Hmm… That's not a bad idea," Eight pondered, fiddling with her pen. "It would get the general point across, but it would save space, and prevent all the Four-related hatreds from overshadowing all the others… Good idea, Pearl?"

"Yeah, no problem, I'm full of 'em," Pearl said nonchalantly. "Just wondering, though, how did this even… start? Not that I don't fully support it with my whole heart, because I do."

"Well, it started as just a mental list," Eight explained. "I was a little bit intimidated by Three when I first met her, you know?"

Pearl nodded understandingly. "Same. And I wasn't even almost killed by her multiple times."

Eight shuddered involuntary. Thank you for bringing up those happy memories, Pearl!

She shook her head to clear it. "Yeah. So I didn't want to upset her or anything, so I kept a mental list of the things she said she didn't like. But it turns out she hates too many things to remember, so I started writing them down." Eight gestures to the lists. "At some point, I realized that she doesn't _actually_ hate all this, she just really likes venting frustration by declaring her hatred for things. But I kept keeping track, because it's fun."

"Aww," Pearl said. "That's really cute, in a really fucking weird way that somehow makes perfect sense for you two."

Eight raised an eyebrow. "…Thanks?"

"You're welcome." Pearl turned towards the door. "Well, I'll leave you to it. Have fun!"

As Pearl left, Eight sat back down, and raised her pen.

—_vio_

_Dude-bros (?)_

_E-Liter campers_

_Emotions_

_Everything_

_Four…_

* * *

Pearl watched from around the doorframe as Eight finished transcribing her list. She neatly slid it under some books, before stuffing her notebook back into her pocket and throwing her old list away. Then, she got up.

Quickly, Pearl slid around the corner and ran into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. After she heard Eight's footsteps pass, she dodged out and maneuvered her way into Eight's room, angling for the trashcan. After a few seconds of digging around, she'd gotten her hands on the discarded list 1.0.

"Yes!" she cheered, standing back up.

"Uh, Pearlie?" came a voice from behind her.

Shit.

"Why are you digging through Eight's trash?"

"Oh! I'm, uh, taking it out. You know."

"Oh, really?" Marina smiled. "Well, it's good to see you finally showing some initiative. Don't forget the kitchen and bathroom cans!"

As Marina took her leave, Pearl groaned. She _hated_ taking out the trash. This was all Eight's fault!

"Ugh. The things I do for young love." Sighing, she ventured to the kitchen to see if she remembered where they kept the trash bags.

(She didn't.)

* * *

Four sat down at her her dining room table along with her guests. Her apartment was newly cleaned for the occasion—not that it was ever very messy. She wasn't _Three._ But nevertheless, she had put some extra care into it for today.

A year ago, even with her professional turfing career taking off, she never would've imagined that she'd be inviting three of the most popular singers of the decade into her house. But here she was.

"Thank you all for coming," she began, steepling her fingers and eyeing the others at the table. "I decided to hold this meeting because I've brought a new member onto the operation. Please welcome Pearl of Off the Hook."

"Sorry I'm late, I had to take out the trash," Pearl said.

"Pearl has been very useful to the operation already," Four went on, "as she has been our prime source for when Three and Eight are going on a date."

"Uh, Four? We already know who she is," Callie said. "You don't need to introduce her."

Four rolled her eyes. "Well, I'm _sorry_ for being professional. This is an important addition to our forces! She's Eight's _mom!"_

"Um, I'm not her mom," Pearl said, awkwardly twirling her water. "Marina and I are just letting her live with us until she's ready to move out and taching her how to, like, live on the surface and shit."

"That's literally what parenting is," Marie deadpanned.

"Hey, speaking of Marina," Four said, "could she not make it? I invited both of you."

Pearl laughed. "Yeah, she said that this is a terrible idea and that we should just let their relationship develop naturally. What a fucking nerd, amiright?"

Everyone nodded sagely in agreement.

Callie waved her hand. "It's fine, we don't need her. I'm sure you've got all sorts of juicy stuff on Eight that we can use to our advantage!"

"You know, since you're her mom and all," Marie added.

"Shut it," Pearl said flatly. "But yeah. Actually, I stumbled upon something _really_ good this morning. Here." She pulled out a piece of paper, and tossed it onto the table before going on. "Apparently, Eight has been keeping a running list of everything Three says she hates. She just made her second edition, so I stole the old one out of her trash can."

Four leaned forward. "A list of things Three hates? That's gonna be pretty long."

"No kidding," Marie said. "I can think of a ton right off the top of my head."

"Well, she only started writing them down about a week after meeting Three," Pearl explained. "And she's just kind of kept at it. I think the new list is forty-five items long? She's really dedicated to it."

"That's so cute," Callie said.

"Writing down a list of things your significant other hates is cute?" Marie asked.

Callie shrugged. "I mean, it's Three. It's not like she'd be able to make a list of the things Three loves."

"Oh, easy," Marie said. "Battling. Orange juice. Grandpa's zapfish plushies. Eight. Done."

"Um, excuse me, you forgot me, Four, her best friend."

Pearl laughed out loud. "Oh my god, Four. Have you even read the list?"

Four eyed her suspiciously. What was that supposed to mean? Curious, she picked up the paper and looked it over. Immediately, she started snickering. This was hilarious! Oh, Three… she never failed to impress.

Then Four reached the 'F' section.

"Oh my god. Why is there so much about me?" she asked, and the Squid Sisters nearly died on the spot laughing. "No, I'm serious. There is _so much_ about me on here."

"Yeah, I know," Pearl said. "In the new version Eight had to summarize them into categories because they were taking up too much space."

Four kept reading. "She hates my fashion sense? Now that's just low. Also, I am not pretentious!" Marie immediately started cackling, pounding a fist against the table. Four frowned. "Well, screw you too."

Marie smirked something awful, talking over her laughter. "Hate to break it to you, Four, sweetie, but I'm an _actual_ celebrity, and not even I have a trophy case sitting right next to my front door so all my guests are forced to see it."

"I earned those tournament trophies _fair and square,"_ Four insisted, growing red in the face. "And that's the only spot there was! It's a small apartment!"

"Yeah, that's actually something I've been wondering," Pearl mentioned, leaning forward over the table. "Aren't you, like, a pro turfing prodigy or some shit? Why do you still live in an apartment?"

"Because I don't mind it, and I'm being responsible with my finances," Four answered.

"Because she spends most of her paycheck buying the freshest new designer clothing in order to supplement her self worth with external corporate validation," Callie appended.

"Oh, like you fucking pop stars don't!" Four fumed. They come into _her_ house and disparage her good name like this? She was beginning to understand why the first thing Three had ever said to her was not to trust the Squid Sisters.

"We're getting off track," Marie said with a wave of her hand.

Four huffed. "You're right. Back to the matter at hand: how do we use this?"

Callie smiled. "I've got some ideas."


	7. 3-2: The List

Pearl looked at the paper airplane on the table. _"This_ is your plan?"

Callie frowned. "You say that like it's a bad plan, which is strange, because it's a great plan."

"It's a shit plan," Marie said.

"Shut it, Marie," Callie snapped, before turning back to Pearl. "You just need to quick borrow the revised list, copy it, fold it into a paper airplane, and Four will take care of the rest."

"I will?" Four asked.

"Yeah, especially if Marie tells you to," Callie said matter-of-factly.

Four crossed her arms. "Hey, it's not like I just do whatever—"

"Yes you do," Marie cut in. "Though I still think this is a stupid plan."

Callie rolled her eyes. "Oh yeah? Anybody got a better one?"

"How about, like, not doing dumb shit like throwing paper airplanes at them?" Pearl suggested.

"Yeah, I like that plan," Agent 4 said.

"Look." Callie took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and laced her hands together on the table. "It's either we work together on this, or I do it all myself. And, yes, Pearl, that includes breaking into your house. Marie could help me with that."

Pearl frowned. "Marie already said that she thinks this plan is shit."

"Yeah, but I'd still help Callie break into your house," Marie said with a shrug. "Sounds fun."

"Okay, fine," Four said, throwing her hands up in defeat. "We'll do your stupid plan. But there's no way this is gonna work."

Callie smirked. "Willing to bet on that, yellow girl?"

Four self-consciously brought a hand up to her bright tentacles. "…No."

* * *

"It's a nice day out," Eight declared.

"That's subjective," Three said. She drummed her fingers on the edge of the metal mesh they were sitting on, letting her feet dangle lazily off the edge. "At least there aren't many bugs out around here."

"That's true."

Three turned to Eight, and their eyes met. Three smirked. "And the view is nice."

Eight blushed slightly, then laughed, leaning into Three. "That was awful."

"Shut it, I'm doing my best!"

Three couldn't help but snicker as she playfully pushed Eight off of her, and they quickly descended into giggles, until their faces were right up against each other.

"Hey, you dimwits! You gonna play or what?"

Three huffed and rolled her eyes, reluctantly turning away from Eight to glare at the kid who was yelling. "Dude, we've been on the objective this whole time!" Three shouted.

She gesturing angrily to the tower that she and Eight were sitting on. She subtly adjusted her grip as they cleared the checkpoint, and the tower began moving again.

"Yeah, and nothing else! You're lucky that I've been able to hold the enemy back, but—"

He abruptly stopped talking as a blaster shot nailed him the back of the head, causing him to explode into ink. A girl with chopped off tentacles and a gas mask emerged from her ink on the spot where he died, and Eight casually lifted her charger, twisted around slightly, and took her out before she could get any closer to the tower.

At the same time, Three saw someone trying to sneak up on them, and generated a couple burst bombs. As the enemy jumped out and started firing at them, she nailed him with both bombs at once, and then slightly tilted her head to one side as his ink shots flew by her ear.

She let out a sigh. "They're so annoying."

"I thought ranked mode was supposed to be more competitive?"

"Well, it is, but they've got this policy where they start everyone at C-. So you're really underranked right now, and it's bringing down our average"

Eight nodded in understanding. "I guess most inklings don't have any battling experience outside of these regulated turf wars, do they?"

"Nope," Three affirmed. "Well, I guess there are some kids who work for GrizzCo fighting salmonids out on the shores. They're usually a bit more in tune with high-stakes combat than most of these nerds."

"You have kids who fight salmonids?" Eight asked, looking somewhat appalled.

Three laughed. "We've got spawn technology and the great zapfish to power it; Inklings don't die except from old age in Inkopolis. Though, legally, well… let's just say GrizzCo spends an awful lot on lawyers.

Eight opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, she shivered slightly. "Someone tuned into my frequency," she said. "Superjump incoming."

She scooted over slightly, making enough room for their teammate from earlier to land down in between them.

"Alright, you slackers," he said, flicking his roller off the tower to ink some of the ground around them. "They're gonna be respawning soon. Be on your guard! We're almost to the last checkpoint!"

Three gave him the most unimpressed look she could muster. "What rank are you?"

"B+," he said, like that was something to be proud of.

"Mmhmm. Well. Do your best." With that, Three shoved him off the tower, and watched as the enemy team converged on his position.

"Oh dear," Eight said. "Do you think he'll be alright?"

"Doesn't really matter to me," Three said. "Is your special ready?"

"It's been ready," Eight said.

"Cool." Three backed up off the grating, and shifted to her squid form. "Let's go for the big finish."

Eight nodded, and stood up, dropping her E-Liter and summoning the bubble wand. At the same time, Three super jumped to their teammate she had just fed to the sharks, seconds before he went up in ink. Down below her, she watched as the enemy team split their attention between Eight on the tower, and Three's drop position right in the middle of their territory.

Then, three things happened in rapid succession.

First, Eight swung the bubble blower in three rapid, powerful swings, sending the bubbles rocketing out towards the enemies, simultaneously blocking their shots and their view.

Second, Three activated her splashdown, and dropped out of her superjump to slam onto the ground right in the middle of the three bubbles.

Third—well, it's not hard to imagine.

A couple minutes later, Three and Eight walked out of the lobby, hand in hand. Eight had leveled up from that, and she wanted to check out the new weapons she had access to.

"Thanks for lending me your charger," she said. "These weapon restrictions are really frustrating."

"No problem. I never use chargers anyway. Especially that one."

Eight nodded. "Right, you hate E-Liter campers."

"With a passion." She paused. "You have a scarily good memory sometimes, I have to say."

Eight laughed, somewhat darkly. "Ironic, right?"

What? Oh. Right. Three gave an awkward obligatory laugh, and cursed herself. _That's not something you say to someone suffering from amnesia, you asshole._

_God, we're gonna have to talk about the past eventually, huh? That's gonna suck. It can wait though. Right now, we're having fun on our— _

Three was pulled from her thoughts rather abruptly when a paper airplane suddenly entered her field of vision, flying right in front of her nose. Three startled backwards a step, and then watched in mild confusion as the paper airplane continued flying, eventually coming to rest in front of a confused group of Inklings several yards away from them.

"What?" Three asked, to nobody in particular.

Eight had a puzzled look on her face as she stared at the paper airplane. "What even is that? If that was meant as an attack, it was very ineffective."

"Crap! Sorry, excuse me!"

Three and Eight turned to see Four barging through the crowd towards them. Eventually, she reached them, and Three let out an audible groan. "Oh my god. Can we go on _one_ fucking date without one of you shitheads stalking us?"

Eight just waved. "Hi Four!"

Four managed to flip off Three and wave back at Eight simultaneously, but didn't stop running. She dashed over the where the paper airplane had hit the ground, apologized to the group of Inklings that were giving her strange looks, and turned back to Three and Eight.

"You saw nothing!" she decreed, before once again throwing the paper airplane at the two of them.

She missed. Again.

Four stomped her foot against the ground and huffed. "Darn it! Come on!"

"What… are you trying to do, exactly?" Eight asked, looking at Four with a raised eyebrow. Three just laughed.

For the second time, Four ran past them, chasing down the airplane. Once she reached it, she picked it up and walked over to the two of them, dropping it emotionlessly at their feet. "There."

Three continued laughing, clutching at her abdomen. "You're so fucking bad, Four, oh my god!"

Four sighed. "This was Callie's plan. For the record."

Three stopped laughing. Callie? She narrowed her eyes. "Why are you and Callie working together to stalk our dates?"

Four's face quickly grew guilty, but before Three could grill her any further, Eight let out a shocked gasp from behind. Three turned and saw that she had unfolded the airplane, taken one look at the paper, and froze. Her eyes nervously twitching between the paper and Three.

"Welp, that's my cue to leave," Four said. She quickly shifted into squid form, and superjumped over the rooftops of the Galleria, towards her apartment. Hmm… Suspicious.

Three resolved to sort that out later. There were more interesting things going on right now.

"What is this? Some kinda list?" Three asked, taking the paper out of Eight's grasp.

Eight flailed her arms wildly, trying to snatch it back. "Wait wait wait no no no!"

"What? What is it?" Three smirked, twisting away from Eight's hands. "Well now I gotta see it."

"You're the worst!" Eight protested.

"Thanks, I try. Now, let's see…" Three looked down at the paper.

* * *

**Things Three Hates**

_Edition 2: Alphabetized!_

By Eight

1\. Art students

2\. Autobombs

3\. Being honest about how she feels

4\. Bras

5\. Callie

6\. Danny (Still don't know who this is. Should I ask?)

7\. DJ Octavio

8\. Dude-bros (?)

9\. E-Liter campers

10\. Emotions

11\. Everything

12\. Four

13\. Four's apartment/possessions (4 sub-hatreds)

14\. Four's personality (8 sub-hatreds)

15\. Four's body parts (5 sub-hatreds)

16\. Four's clothes/fashion sense (6 sub-hatreds)

17\. Four's opinions (11 sub-hatreds)

18\. Getting up

19\. Getting her tentacles cut (Me too! It's so painful.)

20\. Granola bars

21\. Herself (This one is very bad! Work to change!)

22\. Her name (I think it's pretty!)

23\. Inkblot art academy

24\. Kamabo

25\. Kids

26\. Losing

27\. Marie

28\. Marina when she's lecturing

29\. Men

30\. Musselforge fitness

31\. Nerds (It's funny cause Three is a nerd!)

32\. Pearl when she's rapping

33\. Pop music

34\. Pulp (Very emphatic about this one for some reason?)

35\. Puns

36\. Romance movies

37\. Sloshers

38\. Sparkling water

39\. Splatlings

40\. Squid Beatz

41\. Talking about her feelings

42\. Tartar (Blech ugh me too)

43\. The Squid Sisters

44\. Undercover missions

45\. Work

* * *

Once Three had finished reading, she looked back up at Eight, who was nervously twiddling her thumbs and looking down at the ground.

"Danny's an asshole coworker from the museum."

Eight blinked. "Oh. Well that's good to—"

"And I'm not a nerd. Who told you that? Was it Four?"

Eight laughed, like a jerk. Like a cute, stupid jerk. As her laughter died down, she simply asked, "So you're not mad?"

"Nah," Three said. "It's kinda sweet."

Eight blushed. "It is?"

Three shrugged. "I guess?" She took another look at the 'H's. "I mean, some of your little notes in the margins were, um, really nice to hear."

"Oh." Eight rubbed at the back of her neck. "I'm glad."

"Yeah." Three folded the list up and put it in her pocket; if Eight noticed, she didn't say anything. "Now, to deal with Four."

Eight looked at her quizzically. "What about Four? Wasn't she just teasing us?"

Three began briskly walking off in the direction Four had left, Eight easily keeping pace by her side. "Four said that this was Callie's idea," Three explained. "And since it was such a shit idea, and Four loves to shift the blame, I don't think she was lying. _But,_ in order for Four to go along with it, that must mean someone's coercing her. For all her many, many faults, Four's not such an idiot that she would just do whatever Callie says. And who do think would not only take Callie's side, but also have enough sway to convince Four?"

Three could see the lightbulb go off in Eight's head. "Marie!"

"Exactly."

"And—and Pearl saw me working on my list the other day!" Eight continued. "She must've told them about it and photocopied it while we were out battling!"

Three paused. "I hadn't thought of that. This goes way deeper than I'd thought." Then, darker: "Those fuckers."

"W-well, we can't say for sure, right? We might be overthinking this."

Three pulled out her phone and quickly dialed someone, bringing it up to her ear. "Marie?"

"_Of course it's Marie. What did you expect when you called my number?"_

Three had to fight down a witty retort. "Look, do you by chance know where Four lives?"

"…_Yes. Why?"_

"I want to break into her house."

"_I'm not going to help you break into her house."_

Three smirked. "Right, right. Totally understandable. Catch you later, then?"

"_Stay fresh, fucko."_ The line went dead with a click.

* * *

"Stay fresh, fucko," Marie said, before hanging up. Abruptly, she turned to the rest of the table. "She's onto us."

Four dropped her face into her hands. This was bad, this was bad, this was really bad!

"You sure?" Pearl asked. Four envied her innocence. "You sounded pretty convincing to me."

Marie grimly shook her head. "I said I wouldn't help her break into Four's house. She knows that's a lie."

Pearl made a questioning face at that, but Callie interjected before she could say anything. "Ugh! This is all your fault, Four! They totally saw right through you!"

Her fault? _HER FAULT?_ "Well ex_CUSE_ me, _Callie,_ but maybe if your plan hadn't been such a _flaming piece of actual literal garbage,_ none of this would've happened!"

"Guys, guys, calm down," Marie insisted, sounding much less worried than Four felt she should be. "Look, you heard her too. She clearly doesn't know where this apartment is. We're safe."

"Yeah, for _now,"_ Callie grumbled. "You know Three. She could probably kick all of our collective butts with one hand tied behind her back, and we're gonna end up running into her at _some_ point."

"Speak for yourself," Four said, standing up and walking over to her window. It was a nice day out. "I'm confident I could take on Three. I mean, I basically did the same thing she did, right?"

"Sheldon worked with us on the hero weapons for two years after the first incident," Marie said. "I'd say Three's hero shot was maybe… a third as powerful as yours?"

"And she's had two years extra practice since then," Callie added. "Sorry, girl, but my money's on Three."

Four slumped, resting her elbows on the open window sill. "…Right. Well, I don't think it'll come to a fight anyway. We just need to come up with a plan before—"

She was interrupted by an orange squid rocketing through the window and slamming right into her face with a loud, painful, concussive, slightly wet-sounding _SLAP._

"Holy shit!" Pearl exclaimed.

Four thought similar sentiments as she was sent hurtling backwards, but due to the _entire gosh darned squid on her face,_ she wasn't exactly in the prime position to express herself vocally. Marie just barely managed to leap from her chair and catch Four before she could slam into the table.

Agent 3 shifted back to her humanoid form, but didn't get off of Four, which was about as pleasant as it sounds. "Ha! Betcha didn't see that coming, bitches!"

Four hacked up some stray ink that Three's superjump had left in her mouth and shoved the other agent off of her, struggling to her feet. "What the _fuck."_

A triumphant look crossed Three's face. "Ha! I finally got you to swear!"

"You superjumped into my face!"

"Yeah, well, you guys have been scheming behind my back!"

Callie gave Three a look of utter bafflement. "I thought you didn't know where Four lived! Over the phone, you—"

Three let out one of those haughty, maniacal, you-are-all-such-idiots-compared-to-me laughs of hers. "You seriously think I don't know where she lives?"

"Yes!" Four insisted. "I have never told you! You really shouldn't know!"

Three smirked. "Buddy, I followed you home the first day I met you. Who do you take me for? A fool? A gullible, ignorant, incompetent fool?"

"I… ugh." Pearl just sighed in resignation, and turned to Callie. "Do you ever get… used to her?"

"Eventually," Callie answered. "Takes a while though."

Marie broke up the conversation by slamming a palm down on the table. "Alright, Three. You caught us. Congratulations. Great sleuthing. Whoopdee for you. What're you gonna do about it? Lecture us?"

"Nah," Three said, taking a seat on one of Four's trophy cases. "I'm gonna leave that to the big guns."

"The big guns?" Four asked, incredulously. But then, the handle on the door to her apartment twisted ominously, and Four sucked in a breath.

And then promptly let it out in relief as Eight came through the frame. "Hey guys!" she greeted cheerily.

"Oh, phew," Pearl said. "It's just Eight."

Eight stepped to the side and, grinning a bit to innocently for Four to really believe it, gestured to the door. "I brought Marina!"

The room immediately went deathly silent, save for Three's muffled giggling in the corner, and the loud, authoritative clacks of Marina's platforms as she entered the apartment. She had a tight, fake smile on her face, her brella slung over one shoulder, and murder in her eyes.

Callie fell back in her chair. "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck."

Marina's free hand idly combed through her tentacles as she surveyed everybody in the room, systematically melting their wills with iron-hot looks. Finally she rested on Pearl, who seemed, impossibly, even shorter than usual.

"M-Marina! Hey!" She gulped. Four tsked; _idiot. Don't show her fear._ "I'm glad you're finally noticing the, uh, active role I'm playing in, er, supporting Eight's relationship, and—"

"Oh, really, that's what you're doing, Pearl?" Marina said, impossibly calmly. "Supporting our daughter's relationship? What an interesting way to put it, Pearl."

The 'daughter' comment seemed to go unnoticed by everyone in the room, save for Three and Eight themselves; the former's giggling grew stronger, and the latter adopted a fierce blush.

Marina's eyes turned to Four. _Okay. Don't panic. Play it cool._ "Don't you think that's an interesting way to put it, Four?"

"Um." Four had a sudden feeling that the way she answered this question would have severe and immediate consequences. "…Please don't hurt me?"

"Oh, I'm not going to hurt you," Marina said, still not raising her voice in the slightest. "I just want to talk." She turned to Marie. "What do you say? Up for a talk?"

Marie looked a bit apprehensive, but she quickly defaulted to her usual demeanor, and snorted. "If by 'talk' you mean listen to you lecture us for an hour, then I'd honestly rather—"

Like lightning, the brella was popped, and the shotgun blast of ink flashed right past Marie's cheek. Four watched as Marie raised one shaky hand to her face, brushing off flecks of glistening green ink. "Uh, yeah, sure. Let's talk."

Marina folded her brella back up and smiled. "Fantastic! Now, to start, I just want to emphasize: I'm not mad. I'm just _disappointed."_

"Oh, we are _so_ fucked," Callie mumbled.

* * *

Three had to shove her entire fist in her mouth to keep from laughing as Marina finally finished up her lecture. "And so you understand that interfering in others' relationships like this, even if you just want the best for them, is wrong?"

"Yes, ma'am," returned a chorus of voices.

"And you promise to stop having these silly club meetings, and let Three and Eight's relationship develop naturally, only offering help if they come to you first?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Marina smiled, somewhat more genuine this time. "Then I think we're all done here. Pearl, Eight; let's go home."

Pearl shot out of her chair and raced over to the door, and the three of them left the room.

"Oh thank god," Four gasped, as soon as the door closed.

Three took her fist out of her mouth, and started full-on cackling. "Oh my god! HA! _HA!_ _HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA! GOLD! THAT WAS GOLD!"_

Callie and Marie were holding each other, sweating. "I thought she was gonna blow my head off," Marie said.

"I never knew she could be so scary," Callie whimpered. "I'm so glad she doesn't work for the Octarians anymore."

Three kept laughing. "Oh, man! That totally makes up for all that shit you guys pulled."

"I'd hope so!" Four insisted. "We barely did anything!"

"Yeah, sorry," Three snickered. "I honestly didn't think she'd go so hard on you guys." She laughed some more. "Actually, I lied, I'm not sorry at all. Did you see Marie's face when she fired her brella? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH—"

Four pinched the bridge of her nose. _"Please_ get out of my apartment, Three."

As Three arrived home, she paused in her living room, breathing in the smells of her apartment. Ah. Today had been a good day.

She kicked off her shoes, tossed her hero shot onto her weapon rack, and went into her kitchen, fetching herself a glass of water. As she idled by her kitchen counter, she fished the copy of Eight's list out of her pocket. She grabbed a nearby pen, and scratched out 'Marina when she's lecturing' with harsh, thick lines. She'd _definitely_ changed her mind about that one.

Smiling, she finished off her water and walked over to her refrigerator. It was completely bare, save for her grocery list; she carefully unpinned that and set it on the counter, then used the spare magnet to hang Eight's list right smack-dab in the center of the fridge. There. Now she'd… think of Eight whenever she was hungry, she guessed. Whatever. It was the thought that counted.

She sighed. Today had been a really good day.


	8. 4-1: Memories

**AN: Lmao not dead. Sry about the wait, let's get back into it**

"Eight!"

Eight frowned, paused the game on her phone, and turned to face Marina, who was standing in Eight's doorway. She had on that face of hers that meant she was frustrated with Eight for reasons that were incredibly obvious to her, and which she believed should be incredibly obvious for Eight as well, but never were. "What?"

"What are you doing in bed?"

Eight blinked. "Playing squid beatz mobile."

"Oh my god, are you still wearing your pajamas?!"

Eight looked down at herself. Normally, she would just answer, 'Yes,' because she was, in fact, still wearing her pajamas. However, something about Marina's tone seemed to imply that 'Yes' was not the right thing to say in this situation. So Eight said the first alternative that came to her mind.

"No," she said, looking Marina dead in the eye. She was looking more and more exasperated by the second, and eventually reached up with her hands to massage her brow.

"Eight," she said, in that fake-calm way of hers, "you need to meet up with Eight and Three in five minutes. You know, to talk with the _Colonel."_

Oh, right.

"_Sherauste,"_ Eight said, jumping out of bed and running to her closet.

"Language," Marina chided as she walked out of the room.

Not two minutes later, Eight was dressed in the first things she'd come across, and was standing in front of her mirror, desperately trying to fix her hair.

"_Eight!"_ Marina called from the door. "We need to leave _now!"_

Double _sherauste!_ Eight gave up on her tentacles, resolving to just pin them up with the golden toothpick she had laying on her night stand. It was one of her favorite souvenirs from the metro—while nothing from there exactly made her feel _comfortable,_ she did think this at least looked nice. Surprising, considering she literally found it laying around in some locker.

As soon as she was sure her hair wasn't about to fall apart, she ran out to the door where Marina was waiting.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"I like your hair pin."

"Thanks."

* * *

Marina dropped Eight off in front of a big important-looking steel building. She didn't see anyone she knew around outside, so she bit down her trepidation, walked over to the large double-doors, and pushed them open.

The lobby was spacious, but practical; smooth tiled floor, several rigid-looking chairs, and a wide reception desk made out of something that looked like wood but probably wasn't. There were also a large number of flags and symbols around, very few of which she actually recognized, aside from the Inklings' national flag, and some symbolage she'd seen in Cuttlefish Cabin. Military signs, most likely. Something about it all was reminding her of the Octarian bases, but her stupid memory wasn't good enough to latch onto any specifics.

"Yo, Eight. Over here."

Eight turned to the familiar, apathetic voice of her girlfriend to see Three and Cap'n Cuttlefish sitting over on some of the uncomfortable-looking chairs. She smiled and jogged over to them.

"I was starting to think you weren't gonna make it," Three snarked, showing a ghost of a smile.

Eight laughed guiltily. "Yeah… I almost didn't."

"Well, you're here now, and that's the important thing," Cap'n said. "It's nice to see you again, Agent 8."

"You too!" Eight cried, reaching down to hug him. It really had been a while; Eight just couldn't find the time to go out to the border very often. But if it weren't for him, Eight would've certainly gone completely insane down in the metro.

"Now that you're here, though, we should probably head up," Cuttlefish said. "Colonel Clamsey should be expecting us by now."

Three got up, stretched lazily, and began walking by Eight's side as they followed Cuttlefish up a flight of stairs.

"Have you ever met the Colonel before?" Eight asked as they climbed.

Three shrugged. "A couple of times. I had to do this for my mission two years ago, too."

"What was that like?"

"Uh, basically just, like, tell him what happened, then he asks some questions like, 'Do you have any idea how the Octarian spatial warping technology works? You mentioned those kettles contain whole bases,' and then I say, 'I got no fucking clue,' and it goes back and forth like that for a while."

"Marina probably knows more about the kettle technology," Eight said. "She didn't work with it directly, but she was sci-ops. I'm sure she's got some idea."

Three let out a short laugh. "Okay, well, if I ever feel like having Marina talk me to death about advanced Octarian sciences that I don't understand, I'll make sure to ask."

Once they reached the fourth floor, Cuttlefish led them down a hall and into an office. There were a few chairs set up in front of a pristinely organized desk, behind which sat an Inkling in decorated military garb. Colonel Clamsey was an older Inkling (though not quite as old as the Captain), and Eight's attention was immediately drawn to a long scar that started under his ear and ended on his chin. His tentacles were cyan, and they were tied low at the base of his neck.

He smiled, wrinkling his face. "Captain, thank you for coming."

Cuttlefish nodded. "My pleasure, Colonel."

"It's nice to see you again, Agent 3," the Colonel went on, eliciting a curt nod from Three. "And you must be Agent 8."

Eight smiled.

"Please, take a seat."

Eight did. She'd been right about the chairs; they _were _uncomfortable.

"Shall we get into it, then?" the Colonel asked. "I've read the reports, but I feel it's important to hear everything from your mouths as well. This 'Kamabo' institution has potential to be even more dangerous than the Octarians; I don't want any details to fall through the cracks."

"Of course," Cuttlefish said, laying his cane across his lap. "I can start. As I'm sure she told you last month, Agent 1 was doing some reconnaissance before she got kidnapped by DJ Octavio. She picked up some rumors of a large underground research facility, and that's when we first heard of Kamabo. I left Agent 2 in charge of home base and took Agent 3 out to investigate out by Octo Ravine, where Agent 1 suspected Kamabo was hiding. There, Three got into a fight with Eight here, but they were interrupted. Someone—I don't think any of us got a good look at them, unfortunately—"

"They were wearing a hazmat suit," Three said. "Like all Kamabo employees. Wouldn't have been able to see their face anyway."

"Right," Cuttlefish acknowledged. "So, this person throws Three down into the abyss—"

"Jerk," Three interrupted.

Cuttlefish shot her a look. "—and knocks out Eight, taking her to the metro. Luckily, I was able to follow, somewhat. They took Eight through some door I wasn't able to get through, but I waited out by the train station, and soon enough, Eight showed up back there, unconscious and without her memories. She can take it from here, though; I mostly just waited on the metro, but she actually did all the tests. Eight?"

Eight looked at him. All this talk of that fight with Three before she lost her memories was pricking at something in her mind, but she could worry about that later. For now, she turned to the Colonel and began talking, mentally walking through her time in the metro. She began from when she'd woken up—her earliest complete memories—and verbally retraced her steps through meeting the Captain and Commander Tartar, all the inane trials she'd had to endure on her quest for the thangs, her chats with Marina and Pearl, and the blender Tartar had constructed once she'd finally gotten them all, and Three bursting through the ceiling to bust them out after she'd heard the distress signal Marina had sent.

"So I got on this elevator that would take me up to the surface," Eight continued, "but then Three got mind-controlled by this weird goop and tried to stop me from—"

Three's head snapped to Eight. "Wait, what?"

Eight paused, confused. Three should know this. "The… after you got knocked unconscious?"

"After I got knocked unconscious, I woke up on the helicopter."

The room went quiet. Cuttlefish and Eight exchanged a glance, before Cuttlefish put a hand on Three's shoulder. "You don't remember? Eight had to fight you to get it off."

"I _fought Eight?!_ While I was _mind controlled?"_ She turned to Eight, eyes wide. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Eight shook her head. "No." She'd certainly gotten close, though. But Eight didn't say that.

Three sunk into her chair, looking down. "…Why didn't anybody tell me? No wonder you seemed so scared of me at first."

Eight cringed. So she had noticed.

Clamsey coughed. "If you don't mind me asking, could you tell me more about this mind control technology? If that's a resource Kamabo has access to, then we need to be as aware as possible."

Cuttlefish shrugged. "We don't really know much. It seems goop-like in consistency, and it's light green and translucent. It sticks to its victims face, presumably to get close to the brain, and takes control of their body. The host is apparently unconscious while it's attached, and it's possible that it can only attach to an already-unconscious host. And it can be knocked off with a couple well-placed ink shots, as Eight demonstrated."

"Hyjax slime," Three said. "I saw some being grown in the labs while I was sneaking around Kamabo, and it matches that description. Apparently they're called hyjax. And that's with a 'y' and 'x', for reference. No idea why."

The colonel raised an eyebrow. "Grown?"

Three nodded. "It's some kind of synthetic lifeform, I think. It can crawl around and it eats leaves. Really freaky. I didn't get close, so I didn't know what it did. Oh, and it should be noted that its victims don't have their full fighting ability while they're being controlled. No offense to your skill, Eight, but…"

Three trailed off, but Eight nodded in understanding. "Yeah. No. My memories of our first fight are hazy, but I remember enough to know that I probably would have lost had we not been interrupted."

That was an understatement. Even without remembering specifics, Eight knew that it was a miracle she hadn't been splatted in the first twenty seconds. And as far away from powered spawns as she was…

Eight stopped thinking about that; her head was beginning to hurt. She tuned into the Three instead, who was continuing to talk about what she'd gone through during her time investigating Kamabo while Eight had been in the metro. The way she spoke here, on official agent business, was very different from how she spoke casually. There were a lot less swears, for one, but on a more subtle level, Eight could hear how methodical her tone was. She spoke about fighting off waves of sanitized octolings and other, more grotesque experiments that Eight didn't even want to think about with a calm, detached tone. If Eight didn't know any better, she'd imagine that Three couldn't care less about it.

But Eight did know better, and she knew that Three was downright terrified of what she'd seen in Kamabo. She'd never talked about it much, but as Eight listened, she could see why: Eight may have been one of their subjects, but she had barely scratched the surface of what Kamabo was up to. As Three began speaking about some creature that had been created from _blending_ multiple octolings and _mixing their ink together,_ it was all Eight could do not to wretch. Even the Colonel made a face.

But not Three. She managed to push all her feelings down into some closed-off part of herself, and kept on doing what she had to do.

That kind of detached professionalism was almost famil—

_She looked up at the infamous Inkling soldier, tinted ever so slightly through her visor, and sneered, raising her octoshot. Emotionless, the agent just raised her weapon, cape and green tentacles whipping in the wind._

_Green. Specifically colored to contrast the Octarians' colors for maximum dissolution. What a monster._

_The agent jumped, and she began shooting, but the Inkling moved faster than she had anticipated. They ran and ducked and rolled and shot, but it was clear who was winning this fight. She cursed; she couldn't lose here. This was her chance!_

_But then, in a move she had never seen before, the agent jumped up into the air and came down with an explosion of ink. Eight jumped back; she managed to avoid the blast radius, but she landed hard on her back. The agent jumped onto her, pinned her down with one arm, and, with an emotionless glare, pressed the shooter to her neck._

_She let out a sneer and struggled, but there was nothing she could do. But then, just before the Inkling pulled the trigger, someone else appeared. Someone with— _

"Ah!" Eight jerked forward, clutching at her head. It felt like someone had activated an Ultra Stamp from inside her brain. "No! No! Arg!"

Three's face instantly shifted from her emotionless agent-mode to her usual kind eyes, and she reached out to hold Eight. "What's happening? What's going on?!"

Eight reflexively jerked out of Three's grasp. "M-memories…" she managed.

Well, one memory. But this one was way more complete and vivid than her other ones. And way more awful.

"Let's stop for today," Cuttlefish said.

"Agreed," said the colonel. "We can resume this another time, once you're feeling better, miss Eight. I didn't mean to bring old trauma back up to the surface."

Eight nodded dumbly, and let Three escort her out of the building in a daze. Her head hurt. A lot. It didn't normally hurt this bad when she recalled memories.

It had been something at the end of the fight. Someone had stepped in, and thrown Three down into the abyss. She must've crawled into Kamabo's pipes from there. And that someone must've taken Eight. She tried to recall their fa—

"Ah!" Eight cried, as another lance of pain struck her frontal lobe. Okay, so, that part was off limits.

"Eight? Eight!"

She looked up at Three. "Y-yeah, I'm good."

Three bit her lip. "I'm guessing you just want to be driven home?"

Eight almost asked to walk, but that would've been stupid. So, instead, she just nodded, told Three she didn't really want to talk, and refused to look at her the entire drive back to her house. From there, she stumbled through the living room, past the studio, paused in the bathroom to throw up in the toilet, and then finally arrived in her bedroom.

She didn't even bother to get under the covers, but it hardly mattered; she was asleep in minutes.


	9. 4-2: Inner Agent 3

_Eight sat up shakily, feeling like she'd just been ripped apart from limb to limb. Slowly, her surroundings started to take shape around her: the Domes. Some sort of arena. There were giant speakers set up against the walls, across the abyss, pumping music that she couldn't seem to make out over her headache. _

_Why was she back in the domes?_

"_Ya, weni, marei," said the speakers. The words seemed to cloud her mind, dragging her down, making her movements heavy._

_A blur of motion in front of her caught her eye; a single Inkling, dropping down onto a raised platform just outside of the arena. She was familiar, but Eight was having trouble recalling her. She had a cape flowing behind her, a modified shooter in hand, and earphones on. Her tentacles were grey—no, green, wait, no—orange. They were orange. _

_Three._

_The rational part of Eight's brain told her that this wasn't correct. Three's tentacles should've been green, since she was in Octarian territory. They had been green last time they were here, in the Domes, with Three staring her down like this. Green was the most effective color against the purple the Octarians liked to used, it did the most damage, all the agents switched to green whenever they faced Octarians, so why was she in her natural color, and why was she smiling like that, and why was Eight so scared, and why—_

"_Mirekyara hire, juri, yu mirekerason," said the speakers, and Three jumped._

_She crashed onto the arena floor with a splashdown, which Eight only barely managed to avoid. Eight brought up her octoshot and began firing, but barely got two shots off before Three tossed out an autobomb and inkjetted up into the sky._

_Eight ran in circles, dodging autobombs and ink globs and now Three was using a bubble blower and there were even more autobombs, and Eight briefly wondered, in the dredges of her consciousness, not for the first time, how she'd ever made it out of this battle alive to suffer in Kamabo._

"_Kire, hyari, yuriherahe nyurahera," said the speakers._

_As Eight wove between tenta missiles, the beats of the Calamari Inkantation pounded in her head. She recognized it now; she had felt its spell once before, long ago, as it stripped the DJ of his power. She understood the magic the song brought._

_And she understood that, in this moment, it was not playing for her._

"_Nunyera, unera, yurawera fimera ni!" said the speakers, as Three's splashdown forcibly tore apart Eight's body in an explosion of blue-orange ink._

_Everything went black for a moment of indeterminable time, and then Eight awoke once more, rising on shaking legs, clutching her Octoshot with whitening knuckles. The Octarian visor over her eyes ever-so-slightly distorted the dreary scenery of the Domes. She cringed as the speakers spasmed with the low sounds of thumping kick drums, and watched helplessly as Agent 3 dropped onto her platform, confident as ever._

"_Ya, weni, marei, mirekyara hire, juri, yu mirekerason," said the speakers, as everything repeated once more, and her headache returned full-throttle._

_If it didn't hurt so much every time, Eight imagined she would be growing numb to dying._

* * *

"Eight? Eight, wake up!"

Eight's eyes shot open, and she instinctively tucked and rolled, certain that Three's splashdown was coming. But it wasn't, and her hasty acrobatics only served to make her collapse onto the thinly carpeted floor in a tangle of bedsheets and tentacles. The golden toothpick in her hair came loose and rolled across the floor, coming to a rest against the leg of her night stand.

Marina looked down at her worriedly. "Did you have a nightmare? You were tossing and turning when I came in to check on you."

Eight frowned and looked at her alarm clock she never used. Nine? What?! She normally woke herself up at seven!

"I'm so sorry," Marina continued, sitting down at the edge of Eight's bed while she untangled herself. "You haven't had one in weeks; I thought they were over. Was this another one about the metro?"

Eight opened her mouth, paused, and shook her head. "No, it wasn't."

"What was it, then?"

Eight frowned. Marina must have noticed how uncomfortable she was, because she smiled softly, and put a hand on Eight's shoulder.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," she said. "I just thought talking might help."

"I… appreciate it," Eight said. It was true, but she still couldn't bring herself to look at Marina. "But I don't want to talk about it."

Marina nodded. "I understand. Well, hang in there okay? And we're here if you need us. Me, Pearl, Three… all of us."

Eight flinched despite herself when Marina uttered that last name. Marina frowned slightly, but let it go, leaving Eight alone in her room. She sighed, hugged her knees to her chest, and tried not to cry.

* * *

"_Hey, it's Three. I was just calling to see if you wanted to hang out sometime? I got work for a few days starting this afternoon, but I'm free this morning. Just thought I'd ask because I'm gonna be pretty unavailable for the rest of the week. If you're interested just give me a call."_

* * *

Eight slammed her eyes shut tight, but couldn't help thinking about bubble-blowers and autobombs.

* * *

**Three:** Eight, you there?

**Three:** Its been a while since I called. U lose your phone or something?

**Three:** Not to pressure you or anything its just your usually so prompt

**Three:** Hmm. Well, guess ur not at ur phone right now or something. Idk just text me when you get this if you can? Im starting to get a bit worried lol

* * *

Eight clutched at her head. _Ya. Weni. Marei. Mirekyara hira. Juri. Yu mirekerason._ It was stuck in her head, now. Maybe she didn't want her memories back after all. This wasn't fun. This was the opposite of fun.

* * *

**Eight:** Hey, sorry I missed all of your calls and texts, I'm a bit busy right now.

**Three:** Oh, its fine! What are you doing, if you don't mind my asking?

**Eight:** It's personal, sorry

**Three:**

**Three: **Right of course

**Three:** Okay well

**Three:** See ya when I see ya

* * *

"_Hey, Eight, it's Three, again. Did I… do something wrong? I feel like you're mad at me. Because you're definitely avoiding me. I just want to talk. I'm sorry. I'm… not exactly sure for what right now, but I'm sorry. Please pick up. I'm worried. I'm sorry. I, uh… I… nevermind. This was a bad idea. Just ignore this. Heh, not like you haven't been doing that already. Wait, no, that came out meaner than I intended. I'm… sorry."_

* * *

Three slid her phone back into her pocket and let her head collide onto the break room table with a harsh _bonk._ What was going on? Had it been that memory? But, hell, she didn't even know which memory it was, much less any that would make her this mad at Three. Except for their first fight, she guessed? But Eight had attacked first back then; Three had just been minding her business. Did Eight not remember that part? Maybe she was just… uncomfortable? …Scared? Three had no idea, and it was frustrating her.

"Amy."

Or maybe it was a memory from before the two of them had even met. Maybe she'd remembered that she was, like, super loyal to the Octarians before getting her memory wiped, and now she was having an identity crisis, and seeing Three would just make that harder for her. That would make sense, she supposed.

"Hey, Amy."

But why couldn't Three help her with that? Did Eight not trust her? She was her girlfriend! Why shut her out like this? Ugh. The last thing Three wanted was to feel mad towards Eight about this, but she was making it kind of difficult.

"Amy. Amelia. Hey. Amy."

Three immediately filed her thoughts away for later, and Amy sat up, giving Danny a hard look. The two of them were the only tour guides on shift at the Museum today, since Tuesdays tended to be rather slow. And Amy _really_ wasn't in the mood to deal with his bullshit right now. "Fucking what?"

"There's a group waiting for a guide, lazy-ass."

"Well," Amy droned, "good thing you don't seem particularly busy."

"Oh, no you don't," Danny said, shaking his finger at her. "I just finished a tour, and you've just been sitting in here on your phone all day. Who are you even texting, anyway?"

"None of your business."

"It is when I have to do all the work myself!"

Amy rolled her eyes and stood up, walking over to the water cooler and grabbing a cup. "Fine. I'll go do this tour. Happy?"

"You never answered my question," Danny went on, like a nosy little fuck. "Who are you texting?"

"What part of 'none of your business' don't you understand?" Amy growled as she watched the water pour into her cup.

"C'mon, Ames, I'm curious."

"Call me that again and die," she said automatically, draining the cup in one long sip and tossing it out. She sighed; Danny wasn't gonna shut up unless she told him, so she may as well just get it over with. "I was texting my girlfriend."

Danny blinked. "Oh, so you're bi?"

"Lesbian," Amy corrected.

"But you and I used to—"

"We all make mistakes, Danny," Amy said coolly, walking to the door that exited the employees-only area. "Though I guess I never thanked you for teaching me that valuable lesson. So, thanks."

Danny spluttered for a moment, but finally found the words to ask, "Who is she?"

"Good-_bye,_ Danny," Amy hissed, slamming the door.

Muttering under her breath, she made her way to the front of the museum, where a group of out-of-towners were waiting. Amy wrenched her face into something she hoped resembled a smile, and approached the group.

"Hi, and welcome to the P. R. Hana Science Museum. I'm Amy, and I'll be your tour guide today. Prepare yourselves for the technological marvels of modern day Inkopolis and sh—" She looked nervously to one of the children in the group, a red inkling who hadn't yet acquired her shapeshifting. "And stuff. Whatever. Follow me."

God. She needed to get her head in the game. _Amy. You're Amy,_ she said into her head as she stopped at the first exhibit and droned on about early spawn technologies used in the War. _You work in a museum. You don't know octolings still exist. You don't even know that 'three' is a number._

"Hey, honey," one of the tourists said to his wife, "are we still on for dinner with your folks at eight?"

The words echoed in her head. _At eight? Eight? Eight?! _

Amy whipped out a finger to point at him and pulled a face. "Shut up! No talking during the tour!" He reeled back in shock, looking extremely uncomfortable. Amy coughed. "Sorry about that. Anyway, the development of spawn technology proved to be the turning point in the war against the Octarians, and…"

* * *

Eight turned at the knock on her door, and closed out of the voicemail she'd been listening to for about an hour now. Pearl was there in the doorframe, looking equal parts awkward and worried.

"Hey, kiddo, you alright?" she asked. "You haven't left your room, like, all day."

Eight narrowed her eyes. "Did Marina send you to check on me?"

Pearl blushed. "Look, what's wrong? This isn't like you."

Eight set down her phone and sighed. After a minute, she said, "Three tried to kill me."

"Oh boy," Pearl said, and walked over to Eight's bed, sitting down. "This isn't about the mind control, right?"

Eight shook her head.

"So… did you… your memories…"

Eight nodded.

"Oof," Pearl said. "Wanna talk about it?"

"Well…" Eight paused. "The memory's not much. I remember encountering Three in Octo Ravine, and then we fought. I was scared, but determined to win, I think. But I was losing. Then we were interrupted, and the memory stops there. But that's not—it's not just that, I had this dream where Three was killing me over and over and I just can't _win!_ She could've killed me back then, and—and she could kill me _now,_ if she wanted, and there's nothing I could do about it!"

"I don't understand," Pearl said, and then quickly followed with, "Wait, no, that came out wrong. I mean, I understand that having nightmares like that fucking sucks, and I get that your fight with Three isn't exactly a happy memory, but I don't get why you think Three might still want to hurt you. Because, trust me, she's like head over heels for you. You know?"

"I know," Eight said. "I know she would never hurt me. But I also know she would absolutely hurt whoever I used to be. So… who was I, that Three was willing to kill me back then?"

Pearl swallowed. "Eight, I would be shocked if you were ever anything besides a great person."

Eight laughed, softly, and asked, "How would you know? I shot first."

Pearl didn't have a response to that, and sat quietly for a minute before finally speaking up again. "Have you tried talking to Three about it?"

"…No," Eight confessed. "I've kind of been ignoring her."

"Eight!"

"I know, I know!" Eight protested, looking away. "But I just… can't face her right now. I'll apologize once I've worked through all this."

Pearl shook her head. "Nope. Bullshit. Not how this works."

"W-what?" Eight asked.

"Here's what's gonna happen, alright?" Pearl crossed her arms, her presence almost making up for her lack of height. "You're gonna get some sleep. I know you want to avoid any nightmares, but you need to sleep, got it? And then tomorrow, you're gonna talk to Three. Face to face. And it'll all work out."

"R-right." Eight wanted to believe Pearl, she really did.

"Great! Alright. I'll leave you alone now." Pearl got up and walked out, idling in the doorway. "You're too strong to let this keep you down, Eight. And not a single person here is worried about who you were in the past, got it?"

Eight nodded, but said nothing as Pearl shut the door to her room. She glanced towards her pillows; she really didn't feel like sleeping right now, despite Pearl's insistence. She would talk to Three tomorrow—really, she would—but tonight, there was someone else she wanted to talk to.

Carefully, silently, Eight slipped out of her room.

_through her, she pulled the trigger._


	10. 4-3: Old Friends

Sneaking out of her house had been easy; she was a soldier trained in stealth techniques, and Pearl and Marina were pop stars trained in being loud. Pearl especially.

Once she was out the door, she quickly made her way through the streets of Inkopolis to the grate that Three had shown her back when she'd first arrived and Three had been assigned to give her a tour of Inkopolis. Eight shifted into her octopus form and slipped through the grate.

Soon, she arrived at the cabin that rested on the very edge of Inkling territory. She froze as she saw Cap'n Cuttlefish in a rocking chair out on the porch, but sighed in relief as she heard a comically loud snore coming from his direction.

Deathly silent, Eight slipped past the old soldier and made her way to the cliffside where DJ Octavio rested, confined to his snow globe. He must have sensed her approach, because he turned around, already beginning to speak.

"What do you want, Cutt—oh." He paused for a second, staring at Eight. "Well this is a surprise."

Eight sat down in front of him, crossing her legs. "Hi."

"…Hi," DJ Octavio said. "Long time no see. Judging by the fact that you're wearing surface clothes, I'll assume you're not here to free me, and that instead you've defected, which is just fan-fucking-tastic."

"To be fair, the food up here is much better," Eight quipped.

Octavio rolled his eyes. "Of course. Why are you here, kid? Showing me your face is a huge risk, and you're not an idiot."

"I'm dating Agent 3."

"What the fuck." There was silence, for a minute, as Octavio rubbed at his temples. "You're dating the sworn enemy of the Octarians? The most wanted woman in the Domes?"

"Yeah," Eight said. "She's actually really sweet."

Octavio gave her a half-lidded stare. "I _beg_ to differ. Why did you even come here? Just to piss me off?"

"I wanted to ask you something."

"Well, you've got a captive audience," Octavio said wryly.

"Why did you lose to Three? And Four, for that matter."

"Excuse me?"

"You were using the Octobot King, right? And you have way more combat experience than either of them. There's no reason they should've been able to beat you."

Octavio was quiet for a long time. "The Octobot King has significant flaws that the Agents exploited, and I didn't realize the extent of those flaws until it was too late. That answer your question?"

"But why didn't you realize that sooner?" Eight asked. "It just seems inconsistent with you being such a successful general during the Great Turf War."

"Not successful enough to win," he muttered. "What are you getting at, kid? I'm sorry if my answer doesn't satisfy you."

"Was it the Calamari Inkantation?"

Octavio narrowed his eyes, but said nothing, so Eight went on.

"When I first heard the Inkantation two years ago, it freed me from your hypnosis. I understand why they call it the heavenly melody. But I was wondering what if felt like to have it played against you."

"It hurts," was the first thing Octavio said. "It's like it's playing right inside your head, pounding against your brain. It gives you a killer headache, and you can barely hear anything else. The power that song gave to you and to your detestable little girlfriend during that fight was sapped directly from me. So you're welcome, I guess."

"I wonder if the Squid Sisters know," Eight wondered.

Octavio scoffed. "I doubt it. They found the words to an ancient spell by pure dumb luck, and thought it would make a catchy pop song. The other kids in that folk-singing contest didn't stand a chance. Kind of like cheating, if you ask me."

Eight frowned. "You know an awful lot about them."

"Not by choice. When Craig doesn't have you poor suckers to tell his dumb stories to, he comes to me. He talks for hours sometimes." He let out a short laugh. "Honestly, his stories are the only things that come close to the Calamari Inkantation in terms of raw auditory pain."

"Okay." Eight stood. She paused, looking into Octavio's eyes, and felt her feet go cold. "Um. Thanks. Bye."

"We both know you didn't come here to ask me about that song, 02-A," Octavio said before Eight could walk off.

Eight's head whipped around. "02-A?"

Octavio frowned. "That's your name. You should know that."

"Amnesia," Eight said simply. "I don't… know who I am."

"I see," Octavio huffed. "Figures. Well, I know who you are, soldier 02-A. You were the captain of the second front-ops squad. You answered to me directly. That's why I was so surprised to see you here. Of all the octolings to go rogue, I would've never guessed it would be you."

"I thought I would have a better name than 02-A," Eight muttered. Three had a real name. Why couldn't she? It didn't seem fair.

"Well, that's not your _name_ name. You also have a personal name. Octarians just don't use them much."

Eight sprung forward, hands on the glass. "Do you know it? My name? Can you tell me?"

"I could," Octavio began, "if you let me out."

Eight took a step back, face hardening. "Do I need to call Three?" She'd rather not. She'd really rather not, after ignoring all her calls, but she would if she had to.

"No, no," Octavio said. "But you can't blame a guy for trying. Although, I suppose blaming me for trying is exactly why I'm stuck here." He let out a dry laugh. "It's a shame you lost your memory, 02-A."

"My name is Eight," she insisted.

He laughed again, but this time it was genuine. "Ha, wow! You go by your agent number? Seriously?! How's that any better than your squad number? And here you are, saying it's not a real name. You're hopeless."

"It's different," Eight said, though she was starting to doubt her own words. Maybe this had been a mistake. "Three goes by her number. She prefers it, even."

"So, what? Are you gonna make like little 'Amy' and hide from reality?" Eight cringed, but Octavio bowled right over it. "You used to be such a good soldier, 02-A. Even after your hypnosis broke, you kept on just the same, or so I'm told. You were so loyal to us; you understood why we needed to fight the Inklings. You despised Three just as much as the rest of us. In one of the last reports you filed before disappearing, you talked about how you'd tracked down Agent 3's location. You were so _excited_ to take her down, 02-A. It's a shame you failed so spectacularly."

Eight trembled. "I—I don't—You're lying."

He shrugged. "Maybe I am. Maybe I'm just making stuff up to get inside your head. But I can tell there's still a little bit of 02-A inside you that knows I'm not. I can see it in your eyes."

Eight clutched her sides, looking down. This was too much. This had been a mistake. Here she was, feeling all scared of Three; but Eight had been trying to kill her!

"Come back, 02-A," he said crisply. "This isn't who you are."

She'd always been afraid that she'd been a bad person before Kamabo. Everyone around her had told her that they were sure she'd always been great, or that it was the hypnosis, but, but, but what did they know? What did _anyone_ know, except for… for…

She looked up into the smiling face of the DJ, and she knew that she'd seen that same face many, many times before.

"Octavio, that's enough."

Eight swirled around to see Cap'n Cuttlefish standing behind her, cane wobbling in his hand. He was looking disapprovingly at Octavio.

"Captain!" Eight exclaimed.

"Craig," Octavio droned.

"Me," he agreed.

Eight fiddled with her hands. "I'm sorry, I was just, um—"

Cap'n Cuttlefish silenced her with a hand. "It's quite alright, Eight. I'm was a soldier—I tend to sleep with one eye open, as they say."

"Oh," Eight said. She'd keep that in mind, in case she ever really did need to sneak past him someday.

"I didn't intervene at first because this seemed like something you needed to do," he said. "However, I won't stand by and watch as Octavio tries to manipulate you like this."

"Well that's a bit harsh," said Octavio. "I'm just telling her about her past. Isn't that what you want?"

He addressed the last question to Eight directly, who looked away. "I… I don't know."

"It's okay to be curious about your past, Eight," Cuttlefish said. "But you can't let it define you."

"It's who you are," Octavio countered. "You can't run from that."

Cuttlefish sighed. "Growing up isn't running, 'Tavio," her said, tiredly. "Maybe if you had learned that back during the war, you wouldn't be stuck in there now. Come, Eight. Let's go."

Eight nodded and started walking back to the cabin, turning around to spare DJ Octavio one last glance. He was turned away from them, looking off towards the Valley, arms crossed. If Eight didn't know better, she would say he looked almost regretful.

It was… sad, Eight decided.

"Was he telling the truth?" Eight asked, once they were back at the cabin. "Was I really such a bad person before all this?"

"Hmm… who can say?" The Captain settled down into his rocking chair. "Unless you get your memories back, there's not really any way to know. But let me ask you this: If you found out that you really did hate Three back then, would you hate her now?"

"Of course not!"

Cuttlefish smiled, and closed his eyes. "Then maybe you should focus on who you are now. On who both of you are now. Let the past inform you, but don't let it control you." He yawned. "Well, I'm going to return to my nap now. Have a good rest of your day."

"You too. And thanks," Eight said, before walking off towards the grate. She had a lot to think about.

* * *

Three drummed her fingers on the coffee shop table, nibbling at her croissant. Come to think of it, this was the same shop where she and Eight had met up after that disastrous first date.

God. Eight. She…

"So!" Callie dropped down into the chair across from her, pulling her from her thoughts. She poured an absurd amount of milk into her coffee, and dropped in a frankly disgusting number of sugars. "What did ya wanna talk about?"

Three made a face. "Well, for starters, I'd like to say that I'm offended that you still consider that coffee."

"Funny coming from you, Three," Callie said, rolling her eyes behind her sunglasses. She always wore them and her beanie when she was in public casually, in addition to keeping her tentacles hanging down instead of up in her signature style. "I remember when we first got coffee together. I made fun of you for ordering black coffee at sixteen, and you replied, and I quote, 'It matches the color of my soul.'"

Three flushed. "Shut up, I was _sixteen. _I'm much less edgy now."

"Of course, Three, we all agree."

"Hey, fuck you."

Callie laughed. "I'm sure this isn't what you came here to talk about. What's eating at ya, girl?"

"It's Eight," Three said, and sighed. "She's been avoiding me ever since we went to talk to Colonel Clamsey."

"Seriously? That sucks. What happened?"

Three clutched her coffee mug even harder. "That's the frustrating part—I don't really know. Talking about Kamabo and everything apparently made her remember something, and it was obviously not a pleasant memory, but I don't know what memory it was and she won't _tell_ me, so I don't fucking know what I'm supposed to—"

"Woah, woah," Callie said, reaching out and laying a hand on Three's shoulder. "One step at a time, alright?"

Three nodded and took a sip of her coffee. "Right. Well. I dunno, it all started when we were recounting what happened in the metro. Apparently I got mind-controlled down there after I got knocked out, and fucking nobody told me!"

"Eyyy!" Callie said, raising her hand in a high five. "Mind controlled squad!"

"Why are we celebrating this?" Three asked. She gave Callie the high five anyway.

"Just in case we ever need to sort through that trauma together," Callie said, which was fair. "And, let me guess, you fought Eight while you were mind controlled, and going over that sparked her memory?"

Three shrugged. "I guess? I really don't know what memory it was. Just that it was bad. But she won't _talk_ to me. That's the real problem."

Callie took a deep breath. "You're not gonna like my advice, Three."

"Better than nothing."

"But that's just it," Callie said. "My advice is to do nothing."

Three frowned. "That's shitty advice."

"I _did_ warn you that you wouldn't like it," Callie reminded, pointing a finger at her. "Look, that fact of the matter is that you can't _make_ Eight talk to you. You gotta wait until she's ready. Forcing it will just make everything worse."

"But what if she doesn't—"

"She will"

"Ugh, fine, whatever." Three chanced a look at the coffee shop's clock. "Shit, I gotta get to work."

"You're welcome!" Callie shouted after her as she ran out the door.

* * *

Three drummed her fingers on the break room table. There were still eighteen minutes until the start of her next tour, and she couldn't stop thinking about Eight, which she was pretty sure wasn't healthy.

She needed a distraction, so she reached for her phone.

It only rang a couple times before Four picked up. "Hey, Four, are you free? I'm bored."

"_Crap!"_

Three frowned. "Excuse me?"

"_I have practice with my team today! I can't _believe_ that the one time you actually initiate contact with me I have a conflict."_

"Just skip practice," Three said. "I'll skip work. We can bond over our mutual rebellion."

Maybe this was why she couldn't hold onto a job for very long. Eh, whatever.

"_I can't. You could always come with, though! It'd be great!"_

"I'd probably rather feed myself to the salmonids."

"_Oh, come on. Aren't you even remotely interested in pro battling? You'd do great! You're better than like everyone on my team. You could replace Ricky next season! Please? Ricky's a pain in the butt anyways."_

"You're the captain, right?"

"_Yeah!" _Four chirped.

"Then no."

Four sighed dramatically. _"Would you join if I let you be the captain?"_

"Nah, the answer would've been no regardless. I just wanted to rub it in."

"_Ugh,"_ Four said, and hung up.

Three put her phone back into her pocket. While that had been sufficiently distracting, and also quite fun, it had only wasted about two minutes. Damn. She waited the following eighteen minutes in boredom, and then walked out to the museum lobby, hands stuffed into pockets.

She gazed out over the crowd of people she'd be droning on to for the next thirty minutes. Let's see… less kids than normal, that was good. Some elderly squids; she hoped they didn't go on and on about how novel all this shit was back in their day. And Eight was there. That was—

Three stopped, eyes zeroing in on the Octoling. Eight stared back, with a deer-in-the-headlights expression that Three imagined was mirrored on her own face.

Three could feel the scream building up in her throat a mile way, but that wasn't enough to stop it from coming out.


	11. 4-4: Sweet Dreams

Eight stood in the museum lobby amongst the other prospective tourers, wondering if this had really been the best plan. Yes, she wanted to talk to Three face to face. Yes, Three had work all this week. So, logically, she'd have to speak to her at work. But that had a few problems: namely, that Three was supposed to be working, not talking with her. Also, it wasn't like Three was the only tour guide that worked here. She'd probably get stuck with some schmuck, like that infamous Danny guy she kept hearing about, and then she'd just wander around this dumb science museum looking at technology older than dirt. Seriously, Octarians were already so much more advanced than Inklings when it came to technology—she should show these people around an Octarian science museum. It'd blow their minds. Not that Octarian science museums existed or anything, as far as she could remember.

Before she could continue bashing Inkling science in her head, however, her attention was instantly caught by Three approaching their group, looking unbelievably disinterested. She scanned the crowd, met Eight's eyes, did a double take, stared at her with a deer-in-the-headlights expression (which Eight was sure she was mirroring on her own face), and screamed.

"_AAAAA—"_

This was not the reaction Eight had particularly been hoping for.

"Oh my god," someone to Eight's side mumbled.

"_AAAaaaaa_annnd the tour's canceled everybody, please feel free to roam the exhibits at your own pace. After all, what's science without freedom? Okay, cool, um—"

"Wait, what?" someone else asked. "Canceled?"

"Uh, yeah, sorry," Three said, still not taking her eyes off Eight, who just swallowed.

"Why?"

"…Reasons."

"Isn't there anyone else who can do it, um…" The pushy Inkling looked at Three's tag. "Amy?"

"Uh." Three pulled out a walkie-talkie. "Hey, anybody free to cover this tour?"

"_Why?"_ crackled a male voice.

"Reasons."

"_What kind of—"_

"I'm walking away, now, Danny," Three said, giving Eight a head-jerk and walking away. "You're gonna let down this enthusiastic group of tourists because of your selfish actions."

"_You're the one who's—"_

Three switched the walkie-talkie off and continued walking. Eight sheepishly smiled at the people around her, and ran off after her girlfriend.

Three led her into an employee's only area, which was furnished with a cheap folding table with cheap folding chairs, a fake potted plant, and a water cooler with fading lettering.

"So. Wanna, like. Sit down?" Three asked. Eight nodded, and they took their seats at the table. "So are you ready to talk?"

Eight giggled. "You sound like you're interrogating me. But yeah."

"Alright," Three said, her face neutral. "So, what was all… all of this about, then? Because I've been really worried, and you weren't talking to me, and—"

"I know, sorry," Eight said, feeling like the biggest jerk in the world. "It's just… I remembered that fight when we first met. Or, most of it, at least. You know, when you—"

"Almost killed you?" Three said. "Yeah, I remember. I kinda thought that might be what it was." She sighed. "I guess I understand why you wouldn't want to see me after that. Just… you know that I, you know, that I… yeah?"

"Yeah, totally," Eight said, totally not sure at all what Three was trying to say. She must've been showing her confusion in her face, however, because Three scowled.

"Ugh, I'm so bad at this. Just that I would rather, like, die than hurt you again."

Oh. "Yes, I know," Eight said. "That—that wasn't really what I was worried about. I've actually been having nightmares since the memory hit. Every night."

Three frowned. "Eight, have you been getting enough sleep?"

"…No."

"Did you sleep at _all_ last night?"

"…No."

Three's eyes narrowed. "Eight!"

"I'm sorry!" Eight protested, throwing her face into her hands. "I just don't want to… it's… you don't understand!"

Three sighed, and relaxed her posture, placing a hand onto Eight's shoulder. "Hey, it's okay. What's the nightmare about?"

Eight looked into Three's eyes, and got the sense that she already knew the answer. Eight told her anyway.

"It's our fight. I'm back in Octarian gear, and everything, and I'm patrolling through the Ravine, looking for you. I'd tracked you out there, and, and I wanted to kill you, and—that's not even the dream, that's just… Well, anyway, basically, we start fighting, and Calamari Inkantation starts playing, and eventually, you… you splat me. And then it just… repeats, and no matter how I fight, you kill me every time, and it's awful because it's _you,_ and I don't know why they always say you can't feel pain in dreams because you _definitely can."_

Eight exhaled, long and raspy, and turned to look up at Three, who seemed uncharacteristically pensive. After a bit of a pause, Three crossed her arms, leaned forward, and looked Eight dead in the eye. "Sounds like you need to beat a bitch up."

Eight flushed. "W-what? But this bitch is you!"

"No, it's not," Three said. "Because if she were me, she wouldn't be trying to kill you."

Eight made a face. She had a point, but… "I don't know if… I mean, will that really solve the problem?"

"Well, I'm no psychologist," Three said, "but I've had my fair share of nightmares."

"Oh, like, from two years ago?"

"Um, no." Three hesitated, glanced at Eight, and then glanced away. "It was before I became an agent. My, uh, my home wasn't exactly… great… actually, this is a long story, and we're not here to talk about—"

"No, tell me," Eight said. "I mean, if you're comfortable."

Three let out a breath. "Okay. I haven't exactly told anyone this before, so just, bear with me." Eight smiled reassuringly and nodded; Three smiled back. "Right. So, my parents are really shitty. Especially my Mom. She like, hit me and stuff, you know. And then I'd do poorly in school because of her shitty parenting, and then she'd just get even madder, and, yeah, that wasn't fun."

Eight's eyes softened. "Three…"

"I turfed a lot just because it was something to do, outside of the house. Also, it was good practice for whenever I got into fights, which was… a lot, until I started beating everyone and they got scared of me. But then at the end of my sophomore year at high school, um. My mom caught me… kissing a girl."

Eight's brow furrowed. "I'm not sure I understand."

"Right, yeah. I guess this is only a problem you have when your society has romance in the first place." Three chuckled. "Man, you're gonna be so mad when I tell you about this."

"What is it?" Eight was skeptical. She didn't think of herself as someone who got mad very easily.

"So, this isn't really a problem in Inkopolis. But in some of the more rural counties, it's seen as wrong for boys to date boys and girls to date girls."

Eight made a face. What. Why. What. That made no sense.

Three must've caught her blank stare, because she said, "Yeah, it's dumb. I mean, I'm obviously biased, but… well, anyway, my mother _really_ didn't like that. She… well, basically, I got kicked out of my house, and—"

"She _kicked you_ out of your _house?!"_ Eight nearly screamed. "For _that?!"_

Three smirked. "Told ya."

Eight rolled her eyes. "You're—that's—whatever."

"Anyway, long story short," Three said over her giggles, "that's how I ended up in Inkopolis without any home or money at sixteen. But then I met Cap'n, and everything worked out. But, yeah, I had a lot of nightmares during that first year out of the home. Also a lot of self-hatred. I forced myself to date men for a while—that was a big mistake. But, whatever. Point is, I beat the shit out of my mom in my dreams, and suddenly I wasn't scared of her anymore."

Eight blinked. "That… doesn't sound like the healthiest way to deal with that problem."

"Oh, I'm sure it isn't," Three said. "I still haven't spoken to my Mom in nearly three years, and I'm pretty sure that bridge is fucking ash by now, but my point is that you gotta, like, face your fears, or whatever. So beat up dream-me. It'll make you feel better."

"I—alright." And then Eight realized Three had just totally unloaded onto her, and she should probably acknowledge that. "I'm really sorry about all that stuff you had to go through, Three. That's really tough."

"And I'm sorry you grew up in a fascist asscrack of a country, lost your memory, and spent several months as a test subject for some AI that overstepped its programming, which, honestly, sounds a lot worse in my opinion."

"I think it's subjective," Eight said. "But I get your point."

Eight paused for a moment, staring at Three's face. She remembered back when she and Three were just starting to get to know each other, after that disastrous 'first date,' how Pearl had stopped her from telling Three that she loved her. She'd said that Eight should wait for a 'romantic' time. Eight was still trying to figure out what that meant exactly, but she this felt pretty romantic.

She scooted around the table until she was sitting right at Three's elbow.

"Hey, Three?"

"Mmhmm?"

"I have something I wanna tell you."

Three smiled. "Well, what do you know, I also had something I wanted to tell you."

"Oh," Eight said. "Well, you can go first."

"Shouldn't we say it at the same time or some shit?" Three asked, her cheeks taking on a hint of orange. "Isn't that like a thing?"

Eight shrugged. "I wouldn't know."

"Right. Well, let's do it."

Eight nodded, and they looked at each other, and then they spoke.

"I love you," Eight said.

"We should totally make out," Three said.

They stared at each other for a couple seconds, completely still.

"_UUUUUUUUUUUuuuuuuugggghhhhhhh,_ I totally fucked that up!" Three lamented. "Dammit! I didn't think you were gonna—erg, why am I so fucking bad at all of this!" She clawed at her face, dragging her fingers down and her skin down with them, causing her eyes to bug out. "I love you too, by the way, I'm just a fucking idiot."

Eight, as it happened, was blushing fiercely, and looking a bit too hard at Three's lips. "Um, it's fine," Eight said. "I don't really get the whole 'I love you' thing anyway. But, I, uh, do get the kissing thing, so, um… I liked yours better."

Three stopped her vain attempt at disassembling her face. "Really?"

"Yeah," Eight said. "You taste really good."

Another bout of silent staring followed that, except this time Three was lit up bright orange, which made Eight go bright red, and then before she knew it Three was on top of her, and so Eight flipped them over onto the table so _she _could be on top, thank you very much, and Three really liked that, apparently, because that was when she got her tongue into it, so Eight grabbed one of her long tentacles in her claws and _yanked…_

* * *

Danny was exhausted. Fuck Amy. What a bitch. You can't just skip out on a tour like that! Honestly. It was a miracle she still had her job, between this and how she treats the guests.

"Alright, everyone," Danny said, his customer service voice growing increasingly strained. "Thank you all for visiting the P. R. Hana museum! My apologies again for the late start. I hope you all enjoy your time here in Inkopolis!"

He smiled and waved as they all walked off, and once he was out of eyesight, he dropped the act, let his head loll back, and groaned. Fucking hell. He hated Amy so goddamn much sometimes.

He was still mumbling to himself when he reached the break room. With a deep sigh, he grabbed the knob and flung the door wide open.

He stopped dead in his tracks. So did Amy, who was currently tangled up under some other inkling with that funky new tentacle style, their faces smashed together. Also, Amy's shirt was draped over one of the chairs. So that was a thing.

"God _fucking_ dammit, Amy," Danny said, driving the heels of his palms into his eyes. _"This_ is why you flaked out on that tour? So you could go fuck your girlfriend in the break room? _Where you work?"_

"Fuck you!" Amy shouted. The other girl jumped off of her, and Amy grabbed her shirt, throwing it on with an impressive speed. "We were just kissing!"

"That was _way _past kissing."

"We hadn't even gotten to third base!"

"_That is not the point!"_

Amy had the audacity to roll her eyes at him, before turning to her girlfriend. "C'mon, Eight. Let's ditch this place."

Danny crossed his arms. "Eight, huh?"

"None of your fucking business, asshole," Amy huffed.

Eight waved at him. "Hi! I'm Eight. Who are you?"

"Danny."

"Oh." Eight frowned, and she lost her cheeriness in an instant. "Okay." She turned to Amy. "Yeah, let's go."

"Wha—"

"Hey, fuck you, Danny!" Eight said suddenly, turning and flipping him off.

"Wh—wuh—" Danny looked hopelessly to Amy, but she paid him little mind, instead turning to Eight and high-fiveing her.

"Yeah! You tell him!"

"Ooh, I've always wanted to do that!" Eight said giddily. "It always looks so fun when you do it!"

Danny watched in utter bafflement as the two of them left the break room, and presumably the museum. He fell backwards into a chair, slightly dazed. "I need to find a new job."

* * *

_Eight awoke once again in the familiar arena in the Ravine, and Agent 3 once again dropped down onto her platform. But Eight could see her clearly, now; the Octarian visor was gone, along with the armor and octoshot. In her hand was the carbon roller that Four had given her—the emperry dualies Pearl had lent her—the undercover brella that she'd gotten from Marina—Three's old splattershot, paint chipped and peeling, that had been the weapon she'd used in her very first turf war._

"_Sakiganareku, mewanite! Didariwabachu, niragatske!" sung the speakers, with Marina's smooth vocals. "Orahaveora didizatse, wo-ah woah-oh-oh! Woah ah-ah, oh!"_

_Mind-Three splashdowned in front of Eight, but she positioned herself just out of range, and let the ink crash down before her._

"_Regaspradawatsa, bidayukro; rebaspradafuya bepapinno!" sung the speakers, this time in Pearl's slight rasp. "Wenuhigamyuze nomarupa, wo-ah woah-oh-oh! Woah ah-ah, oh!"_

_Eight raised her splattershot and took careful aim. She was feeling confident, this time. Mind-Three's tentacles went green, Eight smiled, and as the beats of the song flew through her, she pulled the trigger._


	12. 5-1: And They Were Roommates

**Chapter One: And They Were Roommates**

"Helloooooo Inkopolis!" Callie called, throwing her hands up and staring into the camera. "Surprise, it's us, the Squid Sisters! Welcome to Inkopolis News!"

Three paused outside of Sheldon's store, having just gotten her equipment touched up, and stared up at the screen. What the fuck did those two think they were doing?

"It feels like it's been forever since we were last sitting here," Marie said from behind Marina's turntable. "Time really does fly after you quit your dayjob."

"We can hear your questions loud and clear, Inkopolis," Callie said. "Why are the Squid Sisters hosting the news today? Where's Off the Hook? How does Callie manage to get her tentacles to look so shiny every day?"

Marie narrowed her eyes. "I swear, if you drop in a tentacle oil sponsorship…"

"Well, as it turns out, Off the Hook is beginning their country-wide tour today!" Callie said. The screen behind them flickered to show a poster advertising said tour, with Pearl and Marina posing in the middle of Starfish Mainstage. It was _way_ more dramatic than it had any right to be, considering their band was basically just a loud goblin and her nerdy girlfriend.

"They asked us to fill in for them while they're gone," Marie explained. "You're welcome, Inkopolis."

"Tickets are going fast, but there's still plenty left, so whip out your phones _right now_ if you wanna see the best vocal group in history whose name is not the Squid Sisters!"

"Seriously. I dropped by one of the rehearsals; that show is gonna be _fresh."_

Callie leaned forward and clasped her hands together. "Isn't it so nice to see newer artists come up and seize the spotlight, Marie? It reminds me of us when we were younger!"

Marie smirked. "Yeah, as long as they don't take our number one all-time best seller spot. I've got bragging rights to consider, Callie."

"Well, enough dilly dally," Callie said. "Let's move on to today's stages!"

Marie poked at Marina's turntable. "Hey, am I supposed to use this thing? Because I do not know how to use this thing."

"I think it's fake? Like, Marina does her little scratchy move, but then the sound guys just play an effect."

"Are you sure?" Marie rubbed one of the records, eliciting a loud screech, and causing the screen in the background to rotate through like seventeen different stages. "Fuck."

"Oh my god," Callie said, eyes going wide. "Did you break it?"

"Shit, I think—"

The screen cut to black, and the words 'Just a Moment, Please!' came up.

Three walked over to the recording studio and knocked on the glass. Callie and Marie, who were concernedly watching a sound technician work on the turntable, looked over. Three immediately started laughing and pointing at them.

Callie rolled her eyes. Marie flipped her off.

Three turned and walked off towards where she'd parked, laughing all the way.

* * *

"And you've packed all the clothes you'll need?"

"Yes, Marina," Eight said.

"And you've got your toothbrush and toothpaste and everything?"

"Yes, Marina."

"And—oh, we gave you cash, right?"

"Yes, Marina."

"What about tentacle oil?"

"Yes, Marina."

She harrumphed and put her hands on her hips, looking off to the side. "I feel like I'm forgetting something."

Eight looked down at the suitcases piled at her feet. Somehow, she doubted it.

"Marina!" Pearl called from downstairs. Loudly. "We need to go! Stop being such a goddamn Mom!"

Marina rolled her eyes. "Just a sec, sweetie!" she called back, then turned to Eight once more, putting her hands on her shoulders. "And you're _sure_ you're comfortable with this?"

"Marina, really, I'm fine," Eight said, giggling a little. "It'll be fun! I'll be with Three!"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm worried about," Marina said. "I once saw her eat an abandoned slice of pizza off of a picnic table because she 'didn't want to turn down a free meal.' It was gross!"

"Marina," Eight said slowly, "I'll be fine."

Marina pursed her lips. "Alright. Well. We should get going, then."

"Yeah. We don't want to keep Pearl waiting unsupervised."

Marina laughed a little, and helped Eight carry her bags down the stairs and to the front door, where Pearl was loitering, tapping her foot passive-aggressively. "Jeez, Eight," she said. "With all those bags you'd think you were going camping in the Salmonid Swamps or something."

"Well, she _is_ going to Three's place," Marina commented.

Eight jabbed her with an elbow. "It's not that bad," she said. "You've never even been!"

"How about we stop arguing over the swampiness of Three's apartment and start getting into the car so that we're not fucking late to the first show of the tour which starts in just under three hours and is not even in this goddamn city," Pearl tactfully suggested.

"You're right," Marina said, hoisting the bags she was carrying into the back of the car. Eight followed her lead, and soon they were all inside Pearl's insanely fancy car and on their way to Three's apartment complex. When they arrived, Three was already waiting for them outside the building's entrance. She walked up to the car as Eight got out.

"Hey Three!" Eight exclaimed, running and giving her a small peck on the lips.

"Sup," Three said after they parted. "I'm here to help with bags."

"That's surprisingly thoughtful of you," Marina said, opening up the trunk. Pearl had stayed in the car, behind the wheel.

"What can I say? I'm just a great girlfriend."

"Also she doesn't want you to find out which apartment is hers, which would happen if either of you helped me instead of her," Eight added.

"Yeah also that."

Marina sighed. "Well, whatever. Here, you can take these." She dropped a few bags in front of Three, and Eight pulled the rest out herself. With one final goodbye, Pearl and Marina were off again, and they began the trek up to Three's apartment.

* * *

Three let out a grunt as she dropped the final suitcase to the ground in the middle of her living room, right under the Squid Sister poster. "Jeez, Eight. You came prepared."

"Marina," Eight said simply, with a slight edge to her voice. "She's great, but… _Marina."_

"Yeah, sounds like her," Three said. "What's in all of these anyway?"

"Uh, clothes, toiletries, electronics… weapons…" She paused. "A microwave…"

"Why the fuck did she have you pack a microwave? I already have one."

"I think her words were, 'So that if Three tries to use hers, you have a backup.' Something like that."

"I'm offended. Tell her I'm offended."

"I'll be sure to."

They moved towards the merged dining room/kitchen area, where Three gestured to the fridge. "That's my fridge. Um, obviously. Feel free to help yourself if you're ever hungry, I try to keep it well-stocked."

Eight took a step forward and looked at the fridge's door. "Is that my list?"

"Oh, yeah, it is," Three said. She had forgotten she had hung that there. "It's that copy that Four threw at us, remember?"

Eight nodded. "I'll need to give you version 3.0 sometime. Remind me."

"Sweet, I can't wait. That's, like, the best version."

"Yeah, but then the next one will be version 4.0"

Three grunted. "You're right. Dammit. Well, whatever."

"Hey, uh, Three? Thanks for letting me stay with you while Pearl and Marina are away."

"Hm? Oh, of course! It's no problem."

"Yeah, but I know it was kind of last minute."

That was an understatement…

* * *

**Two Days Ago**

Three paused her marathon of _Pools and Recreation_ and put her phone to her ear.

"What."

"'_Sup, Three? It's ya girl Pearl!"_

"Oh," Three said, moving the phone about six inches away from her ear. "What's up?"

"_So, you know me and 'Rina are going on tour in a couple days, right?"_

"Yeah," Three said. "The Squid Sisters announced it on the news today. And then Marie broke the news."

"_Oh my god, that was fucking hilarious! Have you seen all the memes of it? Well, anyway, yeah, we're going on tour, but that got me thinking, um… I don't think Eight can really live by herself? Like, she can't drive and stuff, you know?"_

"I can drive her," Three offered.

"_Right, but we were thinking maybe it would be a whole lot easier if she stayed with you while we were gone."_

"Like stayed with me in my apartment?" Three asked, her voice staying perfectly level. "Like a roommates situation? Like she lives in my house? With me? In my apartment? Where I live?"

"_Um."_ Pearl coughed. _"Yes?"_

"Okay. Yeah. Sure. Totally. I'm totally down. Two days, right?"

"_If it's a problem we can totally ask someone el—"_

"No no it's fine!" Three said quickly. "It's fine. It's fine! See you then!"

She hung up.

She looked around her apartment.

She let out a deep breath. "Fuck, how much does a vacuum cost?"

* * *

**Two Days Later (The Present)**

"Nah, I'm great on short notice," Three said. "Don't sweat it."

"Oh. Okay!" Eight said.

"Alright, let's take some of your stuff to the bedroom. Which ones are clothes?"

Eight indicated to a few suitcases, and the two of them carried them to Three's bedroom and dropped them on the floor.

"Wow," Eight said. "It looks much cleaner in here than I remember."

Three flashed back to all the frantic cleaning and vacuuming she'd done yesterday and could feel her arms getting tired all over again. "Well, yeah. I figured, if you're gonna be sleeping in here, then I should probably get my shit in order, right?"

"Where are you going to sleep?" Eight asked, eyeing the single twin bed.

"I dunno, the couch?" Eight frowned at her. "I'll be alright, I've done it before."

Eight didn't look too happy about that, but she didn't say anything for now. Three got to work making some room in her closet for Eight's clothes when she heard Eight speak up behind her.

"What's this?"

"What's wha—oh, god dammit."

Eight was holding a brown paper bag that used to be sitting on Three's desk, and was reading the attached note. She opened it up, took a look inside, and raised an eyebrow. "What even are these things?"

"Um."

* * *

**One Day Ago**

It turned out vacuum cleaners were unreasonably expensive for how infrequently they were used. Or maybe Three just didn't know how often one was expected to vacuum a house. Whatever. Point is, she was thankful for the one-year promotion she'd received from the museum. (She'd been lucky that Danny hadn't bothered to rat her out for ditching on that tour back when Eight had shown up unexpectedly. Kind of like how Eight was unexpectedly going to live with her for two weeks. Oh god she needed to get back to her apartment there was so much work to do.)

She quickly paid for the vacuum, hefted the box under one arm, and walked out of the department store.

"So I hear Eight's gonna be staying with you."

"GAH!" Three yelled, whirling around and swinging the vacuum cleaner at whoever had surprised her. Much to her chagrin, however, Marie was prepared, and easily caught the heavy box in her hand before it could collide with her head.

"You know, Three, one day you'll be surprised by someone who isn't military trained, and you'll give them a concussion."

"Yeah? Well maybe the reason that hasn't happened yet is because it's only you fuckers who sneak up on me, because you _know_ how I'm gonna react, and you're sadists who find it funny!"

"Well it is pretty funny," Marie said, letting go of the vacuum. "But anyway. Eight's rooming with you, huh?"

"Yes, but how do you know that?" Three asked. "Seriously, do you have my phone tapped?"

"Relax. You're paranoid." Three was beginning to notice that whenever she asked that, Marie never said 'yes' or 'no' explicitly. It was concerning. "I came to give you a gift."

Three raised an eyebrow, and Marie handed her a brown paper bag with a note attached. _Dear Three,_ it read, _Here's a gift for you and Eight now that you're going to be living together. Remember: a little goes a long way. Stay safe! —Two ;)_

Three looked at Marie and raised her eyebrow higher. Marie just smiled that awful, mischievous, nightmarish smile that she and Callie shared and motioned for Three to look inside. Whenever they grinned like that, it was bad news. But as loathe as she was to admit it, Three was growing a bit curious, so, preparing for the worst, she opened the bag.

She should've prepared for even worse. It was filled with so, so many condoms, all sprinkled around a jar of lube. Three stared into the bag for a few seconds, and then, slowly, lifted her gaze to meet Marie's. Three glared at the idol with as much concentrated disdain as she could fit into her expression, and tried to make it extremely clear just how fucking appalled Three was with Marie's bullshit.

The motherfucker just laughed.

"Marie," Three started, her voice a cold poison, "what the fuck."

"You two—" Her voice momentarily broke from the laughing. "You two are gonna be living together so I thought—" Another harsh laugh. "I thought you'd appreciate the protection!"

"Neither of us have dicks you god-forsaken pile of shitty discarded red bull cans," Three said, which only made Marie laugh harder. "Why the fuck do you have all this shit anyway? You don't have a boyfriend. Are you even straight?"

"Alright, well, I've had my fun," Marie said, cackling as she turned and walked off. "Have fun with Eight, Three! Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

"You're an asshole!" Three called after her. "You're a fucking awful friend and I hope you choke and die!"

"Love you too, Three!"

* * *

**One Day Later (The Present)**

"They're, uh." Three coughed. "Marie—I—they're—look. They're, like. Fuck. Marie gave them to me as a joke. They're condoms. Boys wear them during sex."

Eight blushed a little, but only looked more confused. "That's a… strange joke."

"Well, you know Marie," Three said. "God. Hey, what do you say we talk about literally anything else?"

"Okay," Eight said. "So do you really want to sleep on the couch? Because I think we could share the bed. I mean, if you're comfortable and everything."

Three's lips wormed around a little before she asked, "You'd be okay with that?"

Eight smiled. "Yeah! I think it'd be fun. But only if you're comfortable with it."

"I'll… think about it," Three said.

"Great!" Eight said, like sleeping with Three was best thing that could ever happen to her.

Not like. _'Sleeping with Three'_ sleeping with Three, though. Obviously. Bed-sharing with Three. There you go. Phrasing.

God. Marie had gotten in her head.

They spent the next half hour or so unpacking the rest of Eight's things (except for the microwave, which Three indignantly proclaimed would not need to leave its suitcase). Once that was done, they curled up on Three's fucked-up couch and put on one of her shitty alien movies. It was outdated and kind of bad and one of Three's favorite movies.

"Wait, is that supposed to be the alien?" Eight asked partway through, once it came on screen.

"Yeah," Three said from where she was leaning her head on Eight's shoulder.

Eight twisted around to look at Three and raised an eyebrow. Three shifted against her to meet her eye. "What?"

"Three," Eight said, "even I can tell that's just a normal inkling in bad makeup."

Three snickered. "I know right? I like how they tried to make her tentacles look like an extra set of claws coming off her head."

"Is…" Eight giggled. "Is that what it's supposed to be? That's so bad!"

Then the 'alien' began 'eviscerating' one of the inkling soldiers, and Three officially lost it, breaking down into roaring laughter against Eight.

"Oh my god!" she cackled. "This part always fucking gets me!"

"Oh no," Eight said, lifting a hand to her mouth to cover her smile. "Did they… did they really think this was good?"

Three shook her head. "Who fucking knows. Isn't it great? Wait, wait, watch this part."

They both turned back to the TV. _"Shit! Martha's down!" _one of the other soldiers shouted. Then it cut to a close up of the alien, who snapped its head around towards the voice and let out a screechy hiss that sounded more like a cat vomiting than any sound an extraterrestrial would make, and raised its tentacle-claws up in a vague gesture of aggression.

Three and Eight collapsed against each other in fits of laughter, falling onto the sofa cushions in a pile of limbs and tentacles.

"This—this—wow," Eight said. "This is _so_ much better than those romance movies Pearl and Marina have."

"Isn't it?"

As more fake blood splattered onto the walls and overdramatic screams of agony rang through Three's speakers, the two of them didn't bother sitting back up, and just lay there in a tangled mess, feeling each other's hearts beat. Three sighed lightly; Off the Hook should go on more tours.

*A/N*

Hey, what's good? I'm back! If you want to ask me any questions about this fic and its extended universe, or just want to look at the cute agent 24 art I reblog, come visit my tumblr! You'll find me at operation-24 dot tumblr dot com.


	13. 5-2: Adventures in Bed Sharing

Three ripped the toothbrush from her mouth and spat into the sink. It was getting late, and she and Eight were now getting ready for bed. The single bed. That they were apparently going to share. Hoo boy.

It was fine. Eight was nice. Great, even. Pretty much the only person Three would ever even consider sharing a bed with for more than half a second. Like, Four? Not in a million years! Either of the Squid Sisters? Hell no, they were like six years older than her! So she supposed it meant a lot that part of her was very excited at the prospect of sleeping with Eight.

Not, like, _sleeping with Eight_ sleeping with Eight, though. She really needed to stop phrasing it like that.

Not that she would mind sleeping with Eight. But, no, how the hell would she even bring that up? Would Eight even be comfortable with that? Well, probably, they'd had some pretty intense makeouts by now. But she still had no fucking clue how to even approach that subject. For now, she should just ignore the whole metaphorical sleeping with Eight thing and just sleep with Eight in a purely literal sense.

She finished rinsing out her mouth and entered the hallway, making her way to her room. She'd changed into the shorts and tank top she used as pajamas while in the bathroom, and Eight had changed in the bedroom. Judging by the open door, she had finished by now.

Three walked into the doorframe and froze. She had been very wrong.

Eight was standing in the middle of the room facing the door. She was wearing her pajama bottoms, but the complementary shirt was still laid out on Three's bed, and at the moment Three walked in, Eight was halfway through taking off her day shirt.

"Uhhhhhhhhhh," Three said, standing stock-still.

"Oh, hey, Three," Eight said. "I'm almost ready, just give me a sec."

"Right," Three said, preparing to shut the door. "So, I'll just—" She stopped as Eight removed her shirt in one swift motion, leaving only her bra covering her chest. Then her hands moved around to undo that, too.

"Did you say something?" she asked.

"Uhhhhhhhhhh," Three repeated, just in case Eight had missed it the first time.

"Aw, you're blushing," Eight said, dropping her bra on the floor next to her shirt.

"Yes," Three said slowly. "You are not wearing a shirt."

Eight giggled, and grabbed her pajama shirt. "You're so easy to tease. I've seen _you_ without a shirt before, remember?"

"Yes, but that was after a few minutes of kissing," Three said. "I wasn't expecting you to take your shirt off right in front of me."

"You knew I was changing in here," Eight pointed out, throwing on her pajama top.

"I thought you were done! You'd left the door open!"

Eight giggled, walking over to Three and taking her by the hands. She looked up into Three's face, smiled in that lovely way of hers, and said, "Shut up."

Three gave her a look of exasperation, but shut up she did as Eight led her over to the bed. They crawled in together, turned off the light, and wrapped their arms around each other. Her bed was much cozier this way, Three thought absently as she felt Eight snuggle just a little bit closer to her.

She was glad they'd found each other.

* * *

Eight decided that Three was warm and also comfy.

She had known this for a while, she supposed—probably ever since their first disaster of a date, when they'd fallen asleep on Three's couch together. But now, as she lay with Three on her just-barely-big-enough twin bed, enjoying the way she felt cradled against her body, it was really hitting Eight just how much she loved the Inkling.

It was a little bit ridiculous, to be perfectly candid. Eight scooted back a little to look at Three: her head, her arms, her chest, her stomach, her hips. Three opened her eyes, smirked at Eight, and pulled her back in.

Hmm. Eight was feeling things right now. She debated bringing up The Thing that she'd been thinking about for a while now, but she wasn't sure if now was the best time to discuss The Thing. But, when even would be the right time to discuss The Thing? She should probably just go for it.

Eight took a deep breath, and spoke just above a whisper. "Hey, Three, can I ask you something? It's… I don't think it's something I want to ask Pearl and Marina, but I really need to know."

Three opened one eye. "Shoot."

"What's Inkling sex like?"

Three met Eight's gaze, unblinking, for a good ten seconds. Then, she let out a single, strangled chuckle, and said, "Excuse me?"

"Well, see, because Octolings had this one way we did it—I mean, my memories are fuzzy and all, but I'm pretty sure I remember how it usually went—"

"Oh my god," Three said.

"—but it wasn't like a romantic act, or anything, down there, obviously, because we didn't have romance. It was mostly physical. But then, well, the other day, I was on the internet and I came across some videos—"

"Oh my god," Three said.

"—and they were _waaaaaay_ different from what I'm used to. Like, seriously, you'd think our anatomy would be pretty similar, all things considered, but, nope! Not at all!"

"Oh my god," Three said.

"So, basically, I was just wondering what the conventional ways were for Inklings to have sex, because I'm not sure those videos were entirely representative." She paused. "Are you okay? You look kind of pale."

"Is there any particular reason you brought this up while we're sharing a bed?"

Eight looked down at the covers, looked at the way they were holding each other, and then looked back at Three. "Do you _want_ there to be a particular reason that I brought this up while we're—"

"Jesus fucking christ, Eight," Three said. She'd turned a lovely shade of orange. "Look. Do want me to tell you, or do you want me to show you?"

Now it was Eight's turn to blush. "Um. Well I don't want to screw this up, so maybe, like, both in quick succession?"

"Fucking. Okay. I guess this is happening." Three coughed. "Alright, listen up. Here's Three's never-before-heard lesbian sex talk, based on zero real experience and a fair bit of porn."

She then went on to describe a great many things using a great many details, peppered with a great deal of stuttering and occasionally a great deal of lip-biting, which Eight was sure she was also doing.

"Okay I think I'm ready," Eight said once she was done. "Are you ready?"

"Bitch I've been ready ever since that make out session we had in the museum break room," Three said.

Eight smirked. "Why didn't you say anything? Were you shy?"

She made some half-formed sputtering noises and averted eye contact. It was adorable. "No, I—I just didn't want to pressure you!"

"Mind if I pressure you some right now?" Eight asked, moving one claw onto Three's thigh. She didn't know where this confidence was really coming from; she was just _dying_ to see Three blush even harder.

"Oh fuck yes," Three mumbled, rotating on the bed and wrenching Eight on top of her.

Eight let out a shaky breath as they stared at each other's eyes, and then reached out to grab Three's wrists, pinning them to the mattress. She licked her lips, which caused Three to bite her bottom lip and wriggle a bit under Eight's grasp.

Eight hummed to herself. She really had to do something about these clothes. She leaned down, curled a couple tentacles around Three's shorts, and yanked them off.

Three's breath hitched. "Woah. Is that an Octoling thing? 'Cause that was fucking hot."

"I'm kind of making this up as I go," Eight breathed.

Three nodded absently, never breaking eye contact. "Well, don't stop on my account."

Eight didn't.

* * *

The first thing Three noticed when she woke up was that Eight wasn't in the bed with her. It was a fairly disappointing realization, but considering how early Octolings tended to rise, she supposed it couldn't be helped.

The second thing Three noticed when she woke up was that she was naked, which caused a whole ocean of memories to flood back to her. They filled her with a mixture of happiness, horniness, embarrassment, and a little bit of confusion.

Eight was a whole different beast in bed. Well, that wasn't entirely accurate—more like, in such an intimate setting, aspects of her personality that were usually kept fairly well hidden in day-to-day life really entered center stage. The same was true for herself, Three supposed. She found that she'd ended up dropping her brash and confident persona pretty quickly.

Three sighed. What she was trying to say was that she hadn't really expected Eight to be such a top and herself to be such a bottom, but apparently that was just the way things were going to be in this relationship, and Three found herself surprisingly on board with that.

The third thing Three noticed when she woke up, after getting out from under the covers and throwing on her discarded pajamas, was Marie's brown paper bag of sex products.

"God fucking dammit," Three mumbled to herself. Marie could _never_ find out that she had totally called what had happened last night from a mile away. Three would sooner blow herself up with her own splat bomb.

Three pushed Marie's freaky mind games out of her head as best she could and walked out of her room towards the kitchen. Eight was there, seated at the table, finishing up a bowl of cereal.

"Oh! Good morning, Three!" she greeted, smiling.

"Hey," Three rasped, making a beeline for the fridge. She extracted the jug of orange juice, snatched a glass from the cabinet, poured, and then downed the whole thing at once before putting the juice back into the fridge. She wiped her mouth. "Sleep well?"

"Uh, yeah," Eight said, looking at Three with mild concern. "I forgot you always do that after you wake up."

"My blood is forty percent orange juice."

"You should probably see a doctor about that." Eight paused. "So how about you?"

"Hmm?" Three grabbed some pop tarts and tossed them into the toaster.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Oh, yeah. I slept great." There was about a minute of silence, and then the toaster's pleasant _ding_ as the pop tarts popped. Three grabbed them and walked over to the table.

"Shouldn't you use a plate?" Eight asked.

Three took a bite out of one pop tart. "Who does the dishes over at your place?"

"Marina and Pearl," Eight said. "Why?"

"Well, here's a secret. Doing the dishes sucks ass. So I only use tableware when the meal requires it." She took another bite. "Pop tarts do not."

"I see," Eight said. "I'm learning so much about efficient living already."

"Yeah. Take fucking notes."

"I think this is why Marina compares your apartment to the Salmonid Swamps."

"Well she can go fuck herself," Three said, then stuffed her face with more pop tart. "And her dishwasher that she apparently loves to spend time with."

Eight got up to take her empty cereal bowl into the kitchen, then returned and pursed her lips, drumming her fingers on the table. "So are we gonna talk about how we—"

"Oh thank god I thought I was the one who would have to bring it up," Three said. "So, uh, everything good?"

"I was going to ask you that," Eight said. "I mean, if anybody got too, um, into it, it was probably me?"

"That's… fair," Three said, flashing back to last night. "But you've got nothing to worry about. It was… good. Really good. I had fun."

Eight smiled. "Great. Me too." She paused. "Should I tell Pearl and Marina?"

Three almost choked on her pop tart. "Uhhhhhh. Why?"

"I dunno," Eight said with a shrug. "They're always looking out for me and stuff. I think they'd want to know." Three gave her a look, and Eight reached out to swat at her. "Not in a creepy way, Three! Come on, you know what I mean."

"I… I guess?"

"Would that be weird? I mean, I know it's like somewhat socially taboo or whatever, but it doesn't seem too weird."

"It's a little weird," Three informed her.

"Oh." She frowned. "Well. Maybe I'll keep it to myself for now."

"Yeah," Three said. "That's probably for the best? Unless it like, comes up naturally. I think if you called Marina and just dropped 'oh hey yeah I had sex with Three' over the phone, she'd have a heart attack. It'd ruin their tour and everything."

"I wouldn't do that," Eight said. Three gave her another look, which caused her to go a bit red. "I wouldn't!"

Three pulled out her phone and navigated towards her saved voicemails. "Hey, Eight remember this?"

She leaned forward, trying to get a better look. "Remember what?"

Three hit play, and Eight's voice began to play. _"Three? Is that you? Are you there? What's a voicemail?"_

"Oh," Eight said. "Yes I remember. You can stop it now."

Three did not, and past-Eight resumed talking. _"Oh! I get it. Um, hi, it's Eight! I was just calling to tell you that I love—"_ It abruptly cut out, and Three stopped the recording there.

Eight was crossing her arms indignantly and giving Three a death glare. "Why do you have that saved?"

"Because it's cute," Three said. "And it proves my point."

Eight rolled her eyes. "Fine. You're right, I guess."

"Mmhmm," Three said. "And, besides, if you tell them, then they're gonna come ask me a bunch of questions that I am _super_ not prepared to answer."

"Oh!" Eight said, after a moment. "Sorry, unrelated, but Four texted me. She invited us over for dinner tonight."

"Oh, shit, really?" Three asked. She was honestly just glad that she wouldn't have to figure out dinner tonight.

"Mmhmm. Callie and Marie are going to be there, too."

"Huh," Three said. "I wonder what the occasion is."

"She didn't say anything else."

"Well, I don't pretend to understand how Four's mind works," Three said. "Anyway. That should be fun. I hope."

"I'm sure it will be," Eight assured. "We're all such great friends!"

Three nodded absently and looked out the window, taking in the lovely view of the other shitty apartment complex that was across the street. "Yeah. I just hope Marie isn't an asshole."

Eight raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?"

Three sighed. "Don't worry about it."


	14. 5-3: Not at the Dinner Table, Please

By the time Three and Eight arrived at Four's apartment, the Squid Sisters were already there, sitting on their phones at the table. They could hear the clattering of pots and pans coming from the other room.

"Three! Eight!" Four called from the kitchen as they shut the door. "What's crackalackin'?"

"Never say that to me ever again," Three said.

"Thanks so much for inviting us over!" Eight chirped. "What's the occasion?"

"I dunno," Four said, briefly showing up in the doorframe to the kitchen. She brandished an oven mitt on one hand, and a kitchen knife in the other. "It's just been a while since we all hung out, and I was bored of my other friends. So now we're having a Squidbeak Splatoon Hang Out Sesh."

"Or SSHOS for short," Callie added.

Marie rolled her eyes. "I told you that's not going to stick."

"Buzzkill."

"Getting bored of your other friends, huh?" Three asked. Normally, she wouldn't pry into what was so close to Four's personal life, but she was really hoping she could avoid being the topic of conversation tonight. "By that do you mean the pretentious pro-turfers or the pretentious art students?"

"Three, they're the same," Marie said. "Four's whole team went to Inkblot."

"Really?" Three asked, eyes wide. "Wow, your team must be shit!"

"I know, right?" Marie agreed. "I thought she was joking when she first told me."

"You come into _my house,"_ Four said. "I am cooking you people _dinner._ Show a little respect!"

"Right. I'm very sorry, Four, for insulting your pretentious art student teammates who are probably very bad at turfing."

"Apology accepted," Four said. "Thank you for being so sensitive. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to make sure these dinner rolls don't burn."

Four retreated back into the kitchen, so Three and Eight took their seats. Before too long, food was on the table, and they were all eating away.

"…And so it turns out that the turntable is actually linked to the screen," Marie said. "Which is really fucking dumb if you ask me. Like, at that point, you're almost _trying_ to make it obnoxious to handle."

Callie let out a hum. "I don't know. Are you sure it isn't a you problem? I mean, Marina seems to have no trouble with it."

"Yeah, Marie," Four said. "Marina's never caused the news to go offline for five minutes because she fucked up the turntable."

"I'd like to see you shitheads try it sometime," Marie snapped. "It's harder than it looks. Anyway, what's up with you guys?" She gestured to Three and Eight. "Rooming going well?"

"Yep," Three said.

"It's fun!" Eight added.

"God, I can't imagine sharing an apartment with someone," Four said, shivering. "You'd have to work out, like, showering arrangements and stuff, right? What a nightmare."

"We manage," Three said.

"Mmhmm, mmhmm," Callie said, nodding her head and swallowing her food. "So, Eight, tell me; what's Three's apartment like?"

Eight briefly shot a glance at Three. "Um, well. It's… cozy. The walls are white. She has a couch."

"Does she own soap? Eight, this is important."

"Okay, that's enough personal questions," Three said, waving an arm. "No more interrogating."

Four snickered like the goblin that she was. "Sounds like someone doesn't own soap."

Three rolled her eyes. "I own soap, moron. Now stop intentionally trying to breach my privacy through Eight."

"Three you are literally in my apartment right now. I don't think this counts as breaching your privacy."

"God, next you're going to be asking me my favorite color or some shit."

"You're being slightly more cagey than normal," Marie observed. "What's up?"

"None of your business," Three said.

Marie smirked that smirk of hers. "Wait, lemme guess: you and Eight got it on."

Three blushed neon orange and sat up so quickly her chair toppled over, then _slammed_ her hands against the table. "How the _fuck_ did you know that, Marie?!"

Callie, Marie, and Four froze. Eight slammed her head onto the table.

"Um," Four said after a beat, "what?"

"Holy shit, Three," Marie said, clearly struggling not to laugh. "I was just teasing. But I'm glad my gift was appropriate."

"Wow," Callie murmured, wide-eyed. "First night? That's… wow."

Three closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Fuck her entire life.

"Well, hey," Marie said. "Congratulations you two. How was it?"

"Marie!" Callie chided.

"It was really good," Eight mumbled into the table.

"So, stop me if I'm breaching your privacy," Four said, "but I really need to know: who's the top?"

Three grit her teeth. "Four, I swear to god, when I'm finished with you, there will be _nothing left."_

"Well, after a threat like that, my money's on Three," Callie said. "Plus, have you seen her in battle?"

That got Eight's face off the table. She looked at Callie and gave a single, piecing laugh. "HA! In her dreams, maybe."

Marie nearly spit out drink as she started dying of laughter.

"I want to fucking die," Three groaned, slumping forward onto the table.

"Oh my god this is the best day of my life," Four said. "Man, I bet Three's into, like, inkplay or some shit."

"I don't even know what the fuck that is," Three said.

Marie laughed. The bitch fucking _chortled._ "Yeah, right. Don't play dumb."

"I seriously don't know what inkplay is."

Callie gave her cousin a strange look. "Why do _you_ know what it is?"

"Unimportant. But just so you know, it _totally_ seems like it'd be Three's kind of thing."

"I'm so fucking done," Three said. She got up, marched over to her backpack, and grabbed her inktank. "See y'all fuckers later."

"Three? What are you doing?" Callie asked.

Three didn't answer. She strapped on her inktank, briefly shifted her color to blue, materialized a splat bomb, and dropped it at her feet.

"Aw, Three!" Four protested. "You're gonna get ink all over my apartment!"

"It's what you deserve," Three said, shifting back to orange. "Sayonara, motherfuckers. Three out."

She flipped them off with both hands as the bomb went off, killing her instantly.

* * *

"She is _so_ overdramatic," Four said, staring at where blue ink covered the corner of her dining room.

"Guys, I think we were a little hard on her," Callie said. "She's probably really self conscious about all this already."

"You sure it's not just Three being Three?" Marie asked, raising an eyebrow.

"She literally just blew herself up to escape a social situation. That's extreme, even for her."

"Nah, she does this all the time," Four said with a wave of her hand. "Once I told her that rocky road is the best ice cream flavor—which it is, by the way—and she jumped into a fountain. She was my ride, too! I had to go all the way over to the public spawns and convince her to drive me back here."

"_Mikero!"_ Eight said suddenly, jumping out of her chair. "She was my ride!"

"She'll probably come back here, then," Four assured. "Trust me. She's fine."

"_Mikero?"_ Marie repeated. "That's not one I know."

Callie shot Marie a look that clearly communicated 'Why do you know any Octarian swears at all?' but Marie ignored her.

Eight brought a finger to her chin. "Um, it doesn't have a direct translation, but we use it kind of like you guys use 'motherfucker,' I think? Literally, it's a derogatory term for someone who receives anal penetration."

"Lovely," Callie said.

"So, just to come full circle," Four began, "would you describe Three as a _mikero?"_

Eight hit her.

After telling the spawn operators the reason why she died ("I was in the middle of an awkward conversation and I couldn't think of a better way to leave") and paying the resultant fine for abusing her functional immortality, Three quickly made her way back to Four's apartment through the use of several mildly illegal superjumps.

She opened up the apartment door without preamble, interrupting something that Callie was saying about alternative music or some shit.

"Oh, hey, Three," Marie said. "Eight was just in the middle of explaining what you guys did last night in explicit detail."

"Marie, stop," Callie said.

"It's cool," Three said with a shrug. "I did a lot of thinking after my brief run-in with death, and I realized that all of you are just compensating for the fact that none of you have gotten laid in recent memory. If you need more details so that you can have a more complete mental picture of the fantastic sex that you're not having, please, just ask."

"Well fuck," Four said.

"See? She's fine. She knows how to hit back," Marie said. "Anyway, we should really get going."

Callie checked her watch. "Oh, shoot, yeah. Alright, well, thanks for dinner, Four! We'll see you all later!"

"Bye!" Eight called.

"Have fun you two!" Three shouted at them. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

"Ew! Gross, Three!" Callie called back before shutting Four's apartment door.

"Well," Four said. "This has been an eventful night."

"It always seems to be," Three observed. "I can probably count on one hand the number of times four or more of us have been in the same place without some sort of chaos breaking loose."

Four nodded sagely in agreement.

"Oh, uh, Four," Eight asked. "Can I ask you something?"

Four turned. "Uh, yeah, go for it."

"What's ink play?"

Four blinked. "Sorry?"

"You mentioned it earlier. Some sort of sex thing, right?"

"…Yes," Four said slowly. "Why…?"

"Well it sounded interesting."

Three was instantly sent into a violent coughing fit.

"Um, you know what?" Four said, her cheeks growing steadily yellower. "How about you look that one up yourself."

"I think we should probably go now," Three hacked out, desperation lacing her voice.

Eight replied in acknowledgement, and they gathered their things before making their way to the door.

"Bye, Four!" Eight said.

"Yeah. Thanks for having us or whatever," Three said.

Four laughed. "You're welcome, Three. Sounds like you're in for an interesting couple weeks, huh?"

"Hey how about you shut the fuck up."

"See you later!" Four closed the door in her face.

Three sighed. "I hate our friends."

"No, you don't," Eight said, weaving her fingers into Three's.

"No, I don't," she admitted.

* * *

The next couple weeks passed in a blissful wave for Eight. The day after the party at Four's place was a Monday, so starting then, Three had to go in for work each day. Eight would amuse herself like she normally did when Pearl and Marina weren't around—she browsed the internet, played video games, watched TV, et cetera. Then Three would get home, and unless they had any errands to run, they usually did those exact same things except now it was much more fun because Three was there.

They did some turfing, too, every so often, of course. Eight had finally worked her way up into S rank in most of the modes after a frankly absurdly long winning streak, so the games were at least somewhat competitive now. Even still, between herself and Three, it wasn't much of a contest most of the time. Usually, they'd just compete with each other to see who could get the most splats while their teammates held the objective.

Her favorite mode, she supposed, was Clam Blitz, which had surprised her. When Three had first explained the rules to her, Eight had told her that it was 'the stupidest way to gauge combat merit she had heard of' and a 'complete disgrace to the tradition of the turf war,' and she still stood by those points, but it was _really_ satisfying to throw those clams into that basket. She suspected it was something about the little _ding_ that the basket made each time the sensor detected that you'd scored. Also, it was Three's worst game mode, which meant Eight could usually do better than her, which was a nice change of pace.

"I don't understand how we _always_ end up going turfing on Clam Blitz rotations," Three grumbled as she unlocked their apartment door. They'd just gotten back from the Square after a satisfying few rounds of battling. "It seems like it's almost always that or Rainmaker, which is hardly better."

"I think you're just mad that you didn't score any clams that last game," Eight said.

"I was fucking robbed by that roller asshole," Three insisted. She finally managed to open the door, and she stalked into the apartment, tossing her hero shot onto a pile of junk in the corner of the living room. Eight set her N-Zap on the coffee table; she'd only recently gotten to the level required to use it, and she was liking it okay so far. She only wished the special were something better than Ink Armor; Sheldon talked a big game about its various uses, but it just seemed kinda bad.

As Three reheated some leftover pizza in the microwave, Eight poured two glasses of water and placed them at the table. Just as she sat down, her phone buzzed from within her pocket: it was the group chat she had with Pearl and Marina.

**Marina:** Hey, Eight! Hope you're doing alright!

**Marina: **We just finished up our concert here in Calamari County. We're flying back to Inkopolis tomorrow!

**Eight:** !

**Eight:** I can't wait to see you guys again!

**Pearl:** Hell yeah baby

**Pearl:** Yo make sure you guys all come to our final concert

**Pearl:** Starfish Mainstage at Eight!

**Marina:** We insisted on that start time… ;)

**Eight:** Yeah of course we're going!

**Eight:** Oh but Three says she's not paying for her ticket.

**Pearl:** Cheapskate

**Pearl:** Well fine whatever. Basically all our shows sold out so I SUPPOSE we can spare a few free seats for you guys, but she owes me one

**Marina:** We already have seats reserved for all of you. Pearl's just being difficult.

**Eight:** Haha okay well I'll see you there!

**Eight: **3

**Marina:** 3

**Pearl:** B)

**Marina:** Pearl!

**Pearl:** Ugh fine

**Pearl: **3

**Pearl:** The levels I stoop to for you people

Eight giggled to herself and slipped her phone back into her pocket just as Three sat down across from her, sliding Eight a plate. (Pizza, she had explained earlier, only required a plate if you were eating more than one slice at a time, since it took two hands to eat effectively.) "Was that your moms?"

Eight opened her mouth to protest, but decided that was a lost cause, and just said, "Yeah." Three smirked at her; Eight ignored it. "They're flying back tomorrow to give their last concert. Apparently they already reserved seats for us."

"Oh," Three said. "Cool. Less hassle for me. I mean, have you _seen_ those ticket prices?"

"They are pretty popular," Eight said.

"Yeah, but I haven't seen prices that high since the Squid Sisters' concert I went to, like, five years ago."

"You also never go to concerts," Eight reminded her.

"Whatever." Three shoved half a slice of pizza into her mouth all at once and ate it with animalistic efficiency. "So, are you gonna be moving back in with them after tomorrow, then?"

Oh. She hadn't thought about that. "I… guess so."

"You seem disappointed," Three said, smiling slightly.

Eight sighed. "Yeah, I don't know, it's just been… a lot of fun living with you and stuff. Not that I don't love them, but…"

"Nah, I get it," Three said. "Don't worry, I can, like, sneak into your house in the middle of the night, and we can see if we're able to bang each other without waking Pearl and Marina."

"Three!" Eight could feel the ink rushing to her face.

Three shrugged. "I mean, it's a little cliche, sure, but you missed out on your rebellious teen years, so we gotta make up for lost ground."

"What if they catch us?"

"Isn't that part of the thrill?"

"Ah! No!" Eight covered her face up with her hands and violently shook her head, trying to stop her imagination. Though to be fair it did seem kind of thrilling BUT NOT IN A SEXY WAY. NO. IN A BAD WAY. IN A VERY BAD WAY. "You're the worst, Three!"

"What?" she asked innocently. "You were so gung ho about telling them all about it after the first time. This would just be telling them in a more interesting way!"

Eight groaned and dragged her hands down her face. "No. Absolutely not." She let Three laugh a little at her expense (jerk!) before going on. "But it's not just that. Obviously. I mean, that's a part of it, but it's… I don't know. I like seeing you in the morning every day. Stuff like that."

Three was quiet for a moment. "Yeah. Me too." She sighed. "Look, we don't have to talk about this now. Let's just enjoy our time today and tomorrow, and then go suffer through Pearl's rapping for an hour. _Then_ maybe we'll talk about it."

Eight nodded. That sounded good. "Hey, uh, Three. I was thinking, maybe, you want to enjoy our time together tonight, too?"

Three looked confused for a half a second before her eyebrows shot up and she let out a soft, "Oh! Yeah. Yes. Sure. Let me finish my pizza first though, I'm really hungry."

Eight giggled. "Right, of course."


	15. 5-4: Moving Right Along

Starfish Mainstage was _packed_ by the time Three and Eight arrived. They shoved their way though the crowds up towards their seats; they weren't front row or anything, but for a show as big as this, they were pretty good. Three grumbled some half-hearted 'excuse me's and 'sorry's as she shuffled past the kneecaps of the other concert-goers before she finally arrived at her seat, dropping down next to Four.

"Sup," Four greeted. "I wasn't sure if you were coming."

"I'm not that much of an asshole."

"Hi Four!" Eight said, taking her seat on the other side of Three.

Three leaned forward and looked past Four, but only saw a family of Jellies. "Where are Callie and Marie? Shouldn't they be here?"

"Oh, they're here all right," Four said, pointing up towards one of the VIP boxes. Three followed her finger—sure enough, there they were, chatting it up in the special seats. Marie was even drinking a soda. This kind of pissed Three off, because she could really go for a soda right about now, but food and drink weren't allowed in the venue. Unless you were a celebrity, apparently.

"Wow. Guess they're just too good for us, huh?"

Four elbowed her. "You know what would happen if they sat next to us. We'd get mobbed."

"Shut up!" Eight called suddenly, throwing an arm across Three's body. "Here they come!"

Three looked towards the stage just in time to see Pearl and Marina superjump in from who knows where; Pearl landed behind the microphone, and Marina landed right behind her equipment, which cleverly hid her octopus form from the spotlights. (It still amazed Three that everybody just assumed the Octolings were just Inklings with weird haircuts.)

"What's good, Inkopolis?!" Pearl shouted into the mic. "Y'all ready for this?!"

The crowd erupted, even as Marina began playing out the opening bars to _Color Pulse_ on her synth. "Thank you all for coming out tonight!" she called out into her own microphone. "And, hey, give it up to the Squid Sisters for covering the news while we were away!"

She threw a hand up towards the Squid Sisters' box, and the crowd's cheering crescendoed as Callie and Marie waved down at the audience.

"We're so excited to finally take this tour back home," Marina said. "So let's not waste any time! Sing it with me if you know it, people!

"_Rasta, ruminai, yonabiarubawe!" _Marina sang.

And so did Eight next to her. Three gave her a tired look, but Eight just giggled. "Come on, Three! You gotta sing along!"

"I'm not singing."

"Oh, wow, Three," Four admonished. "I didn't know you hated Off the Hook. I didn't know you despised Eight's parents."

"Guilt me all you want, I'm not singing."

"_Rasta, riposei, nyuzetarahankista!"_ Eight sang. Three noticed she had a really pretty singing voice, but like hell was she gonna tell her that right now. She did _not _need encouragement.

"Here, I'll do Pearl's part," Four said. _"Monin nyunennai! Wasaponnatai, za nemora!"_

Three turned to Four. "Please, Four. I'm begging you."

"_Tashiniraomaigemora!"_ Four rapped.

"Yeah!" Eight said, bouncing in her seat. "Aw, this is gonna be such a fun concert!"

Three buried her face in her hands. "Four, if you're going to sing, at least don't _rap,_ okay?"

"Well, _someone_ has to be Pearl," Eight stated.

Four smirked. "So unless you're offering, Three—"

"Fuck no!"

"Well, you made your choice. _Wasaponnachenira gana bai!"_

Then Eight came in just as Marina did, smiling like an idiot. _"Wikanirasta! Ninokurai!"_

"_Hey, hey, janpai!"_

"_Pikaporabari! Ninohai, onyasaaaaaaai!"_

Three sighed. This was going to be a long concert.

* * *

As the instrumentals from their final number faded into the background, Off the Hook took center stage, the sweat from dancing under the spotlights ever-so-slightly smudging their makeup. Four and Eight's throats had gone hoarse a couple songs ago—much to Three's endless relief—but it did make her wonder how Pearl and Marina could do this day after day while traveling all over the country. It was actually fairly impressive.

"Whew!" Pearl said, wiping her brow. "Thank you guys so much for coming out tonight! Y'all are the best!"

Marina nodded in agreement. "We've had the time of our lives on this tour, and ending it here in Inkopolis was the best possible way to end it. This city means so much to us, for so many reasons."

"Speaking of—we may have sung our last song tonight, but we've still got one more surprise for you!" Pearl exclaimed.

"We do?" Marina asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Heck yeah we do!" Pearl said. "Like she said, this city is special for a lotta reasons, but the biggest one is that Inkopolis is where I met Marina."

"Pearl, what are you doing?" Marina asked, though she couldn't seem to keep from smiling.

Pearl turned to face her. "Marina, ever since I first saw you, I knew that we were gonna make sick-ass beats together forever. I've never been happier in my life before we got together and formed Off the Hook."

"Did our manager okay this?" Marina asked.

"Fuck Naomi! We've wanted to go public since forever, and I do what I want!" Pearl said. "And what I want"—she pulled a small box out of her pocket and bent down onto one knee—"is for you to marry me, Marina!"

The audience went _batshit._

"In front of all these people? Pearlie, you jerk!" Marina laughed, taking the ring and sliding it onto her finger. "Of course I'll marry you."

Pearl threw her hands up into the air. "WOOHOO! LET'S GO, INKOPOLIS!"

The crowd, somehow, grew even wilder, but Three was having minor difficulties paying attention. Eight had grabbed her by the shoulders and was violently jostling her around while screeching at a frequency that shouldn't have been possible.

"Eight—please—quit it—"

"_EEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"_

"Eight!"

"_THREEEEEEEEEE! IT'S HAPPENIIIIIIIIIIING!"_

"Eight—oh my god—just stop shaking me so much—"

Finally, Eight let go, and Three let out a breath, gripping the armrests on her chair.

"Um, Eight?" Four asked from off to the side. "What are you doing?"

Three turned her head back to Eight. That was a good question. It almost looked like Eight was about to superjump.

Oh.

Shit.

"Wait, wait, Eight, no!" Three said, reaching out to grab her. But Three was a second too late, and suddenly Eight was flying through the air, and landed perfectly between Pearl and Marina, pulling them both into a giant hug.

They looked shocked, but soon returned the gesture. Pearl smiled sheepishly out at the audience and flashed a thumbs up at the security crustaceans, while Marina said something to Eight that nobody offstage could hear.

"God dammit Eight," Three said.

"Uh, is this a problem?" Four said. "Aren't people not supposed to know Eight exists?"

"Yes," Three said. "She's an illegal immigrant and previous war criminal."

"Well, so's Marina, right?"

"I guess? It still makes me nervous."

"Well… it should be fine, I think," Four assured. "Nobody's going to do an extensive background check on her just because she was seen with Off the Hook."

"I hope you're right," Three mumbled.

* * *

_Inkopolis Times — Celebrity News_

_**Off the Hook and Onto the Finger**_

_By __Saul T. Waters_

_As they wrapped up the final song of the final concert of their tour right here in Inkopolis, Off the Hook member Pearl Houzuki proposed to her partner in music and, apparently, romance, Marina Ida. This out-of-nowhere engagement shed light on a relationship kept secret for over a year: in Pearl's proposal speech, she implied that the two have been dating ever since they first formed Off the Hook. _

_This comes as a surprise for the majority of Inkopolis, except, perhaps, for a few friends in the industry—a few minutes after the concert, Marie Cuttlefish of the Squid Sisters published a post that simply read, "we been knew" on her Squidstagram. Neither member of Off the Hook has made any official comments, but in her proposal speech Pearl implied that their manager Naomi Charles, likely among others, had been advising them to keep quiet about it against their wishes. One can guess it had something to do with wanting them to establish a career for themselves before they reveal something that could be potentially controversial._

_And controversial it has been. The proposal is a huge win for the LGBT community across the country, and Off the Hook will surely be praised and loved in their hometown of Inkopolis, but it isn't hard to predict the backlash that will come from the more conservative areas on the map. In fact, Mayor Trouter of Seasponge County has already issued an apology for allowing Off the Hook to perform in his town, stating that had he known about their relationship earlier, he would not have allowed it to happen. How he would accomplish something so unequivocally outside his mayoral jurisdiction, however, is a mystery to all._

_Pearl and Marina's engagement came along with another surprise, too—a single young Inkling girl who superjumped onto the stage after Marina accepted the ring, and embraced the two in a hug. At first, people assumed she was a family member, friend, or maybe someone who worked with them on the management or production side, but nobody seems to know who she is. As far as research would indicate, she is not related to either member, and holds no job in the music business, which likely means she's simply a friend of the group (unless you're into conspiracy theories, in which case she's their secret adopted daughter). _

_Off the Hook, as stated, has not made any comments on any of the proceedings from last night as of publishing this paper, though it likely won't be long until they do._

_Saul T. Waters, Inkopolis Times._

Three set down the newspaper. Well, first off, fuck Seasponge County, and fuck Mayor Trouter. She was so glad she'd gotten out of there when she had. And second of all, she needed to make sure that Eight didn't go outside without sunglasses on for the next few weeks.

Three was just about to get up when her phone buzzed in her pocket. She rolled her eyes and took it out, looking to see who had sent her a text.

**Danny:** so uhhhhh amy

"Oh god fucking dammit it all to hell and back again," Three mumbled under her breath.

**Danny:** was browsing 4clam and came across this?

He sent a picture of Eight hugging Pearl and Marina onstage.

**Amy:** 4clam? Really? You're worse than I thought

**Danny:** not the point

**Danny: **were u ever gonna mention that ur gf is apparently good friends w OtH

**Danny:** possibly even there adopted child

**Amy:** This is literally none of your business, asshat

**Danny:** yo what if i told the press about u 2 lmao

**Amy:** Then you would wake up one day with less limbs.

**Danny:** jeez woman i was joking

**Danny:** but like srsly thats wild

**Danny:** did u guys all meet at like a lesbian club or something

**Amy:** I'm not going to have this fucking conversation with you. Bye.

Three silenced her phone and stuffed it back into her pocket. That was _plenty_ of that.

* * *

Marina put her hands on her hips, looking down at the pile of boxes at Eight's feet. She couldn't help but feel as though they'd forgotten something. Pearl was leaning against the wall off to the side, and Three had planted herself on their couch, scrolling through something on her phone. Neither of them were being particularly constructive.

"And you've packed all the clothes you'll need?"

"Yes, Marina," Eight said.

"And you've got your turfing gear?"

"Yes, Marina."

"And you have your—"

"Oh my god," Three said, without looking away from her phone. "We've been here for, like, an hour. I think she's good."

Marina huffed and put her hands on her hips. "Well, I'm _sorry_ for being thorough, but it'd be a hassle for Eight to have to come back and forth because she forgot something."

"I think you're just stalling because you don't want her to leave," Pearl said. Like a bad fiance would.

Ooh, it was fun to Pearl her fiance.

Maybe she was right, though. Eight had been living with them for quite some time now, and she understood why she wanted to move out, but… it was still hard. Marina sighed. "Alright. Well, Eight, if you ever need a break from Three—"

Three narrowed her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"—you're always welcome back here, alright?"

Eight smiled. "I know. Thanks, guys. You've helped me so much, ever since you helped me escape the metro, and I'll always be grateful. I know it's like, a joke or whatever, but you two are the closest thing to a family I have."

"Eight, stop," Pearl said, sniffling slightly. "You're gonna make me cry."

Three chuckled. Eight elbowed her.

Marina, too, could feel her eyes growing watery. She felt her legs push her forward as she pulled Eight into a tight hug. A second later, she felt Pearl throw herself onto them too.

"Get in here, Three!" Pearl said.

"No."

Eight shot her girlfriend a look. "Come on!"

"No," Three repeated.

"It's fine," Marina said. "Who needs her?"

"I do," Eight mumbled.

The three of them rocked ever so slightly as Three half-heartedly latched onto the side of the group hug. "You're so goddamn cheesy."

Finally, they broke apart, Marina wiping at her eyes. "Alright. Well. You two have fun in Three's shitty, single-bedroom apartment, I guess."

Eight giggled. "Oh, we will."

Three rolled her eyes and smiled.

"I still don't know why you won't let us buy you a second bed," Marina said.

"It'd just get in the way," Three said.

Eight giggled again.

Marina looked confusedly at Pearl. "Am I missing something?"

Pearl narrowed her eyes at the two younger girls, and then after a second, apparently came to some sort of grand realization, as she went, "OOOOOOH! Nice!"

This just made Marina more confused. Eight exchanged one last goodbye with them before she and Three left Pearl and Marina's house, and the door shut with a decisive thunk. Marina let out one last sigh and smiled.

"They grow up so fast." After a second, she turned to Pearl. "So, uh, what was that whole 'oooh, nice' thing about?"

Pearl laughed. "They're totally fucking."

Marina walked over to the window and pulled back to blinds, and, oh, yep, they were making out in Three's car. Huh.

Well, good for them.


	16. 6-1: Four's a Crowd

Four pressed her brush to the turf and ran as fast as her legs would carry her. She chanced a look at the turf map up on the big screen and cringed; this would be rough.

She skirted around a corner and ran right into an inkling on the enemy team. He started firing on her with his Gal, but she lifted her brush and began wailing on him even sooner. She slapped him around until he splatted all over the walls, and then promptly continued forward, once again grateful for her naturally large ink sac; she _should_ be able to make it to time without needing to submerge. And if her teammates pulled their weight, then _maybe_ they'd be able to eke out a victory here.

She bit a curse off her tongue and jumped back as a charger blast crossed her path. She looked up just in time to see their squiffer eyeing her from some nearby high ground, and, panicking, tossed an autobomb up at her, which only really served to waste the rest of her ink supply. She swam back through the path she'd taken to get there and resurfaced as soon as she encountered enemy ink. But just as she began to swing her brush, a buzzer reverberated through her eardrums, and the announcer called out a heart-sinking, _"TIME!"_

Four huffed and slammed her forehead against the handle of her inkbrush before superjumping back to her spawn. When she arrived, Ricky and Meagan were already there. She landed wordlessly, and a second later, Leo finished solidifying and emerged from the spawn grate. He at least spared her a sympathetic glance as they turned their eyes to the screen.

"_Results are just coming in, and…"_ the announcer paused as the numbers on the screen ticked up and finally came to a stop. _"Team Shellshock takes it forty-eight to forty-three, closing out the set two to nothing!"_

"_Quite the impressive showing for their seed," _said his co-commentator. _"And an unfortunate upset for Fresh Ink, getting knocked out of the bracket so early."_

Out of the corner of her eye, Four saw Ricky scowl. He turned his head down to the side, and crossed his dualies under each arm, grumbling something under his breath.

"_Indeed. Well, Shellshock did an excellent job shutting down Lynn, which gave them a lot of room to work with. Those early splats against her really stunted Fresh Ink's offense, and the other members of her team just weren't able to hold their own without her."_

"_And I think it's telling that even through all the focus Shellshock put on her, Lynn still managed to score the most points on her team," _the other commentator went on._ "And while that's understandable for, say, Leo on the charger, their slosher and especially dualies really should've been able to put more ink on the ground."_

Ricky's grimace worsened. Meagan's grip on her slosher grew white-knuckled. Leo refused to look at anyone else. And Four just sighed.

"_Definitely. Well, anyway, we'll be seeing Shellshock once again in the quarter finals. Next up, we've got a match that's sure to be interesting…"_

* * *

"Bullshit," Ricky fumed as soon as they got back into their locker room. "Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit!"

Four didn't acknowledge him. Instead, she shrugged off her ink tank, pulled her sweaty jersey over her head, and hoisted her inkbrush over her lap to fiddle with the nozzles. It didn't really need maintenance, but she would rather be distracted right now.

"It was a fucking _turf war—_that's always been our weakest mode!" Ricky continued, slinging his dualies into his locker and slamming the door. "Seriously,who does that announcer think he is? Sorry we can't all be prodigies like little miss _Lynn_ over here!"

Four cringed, and scraped some dried ink off her brush.

"Hey now," Leo said. "None of us are happy with this losing streak, but you don't need to take it out on captain."

"It's just so _frustrating!"_ Meagan griped, slumping down on one of the benches. "We used to be competitive in majors, and now we can't even make quarter finals in a local."

"We're just in a slump," Leo said. "It happens to everyone! Before you know it, we'll be back and better than ever."

"Maybe once you learn how to hit a shot," Ricky snapped.

Four turned her best glare on Ricky. "Stop that."

"Yeah, Ricky," Meagan sneered. "I saw your K/D. Don't talk shit if you're already wallowing in it yourself."

"I said _stop_ that," Four said, turning on Meagan now. She at least had the decency to look guilty, mumbling a quiet 'sorry' and turning away.

Ricky, on the other hand, just looked even more incensed, but he seemed to understand the mood Lynn was in right now, and kept his mouth shut. It was a few moments before Leo spoke up again; quieter this time, and lacking his usual cheerfulness.

"Hey, uh, Lynn…"

Four looked up. "Yeah?"

"What happens if we lose our sponsorship?"

Four turned back to her brush and sighed. "I don't know."

"We're fucked straight to Sunday is what," Ricky seethed. "We'd have to rely on raw tournament earnings, which aren't exactly coming our way too frequently right now."

"Yeah, and whose fault is that?" Meagan mumbled.

Ricky's eyebrow twitched. "What'd you say?"

"I said it's your damn fault we're losing!" Meagan yelled, throwing up a hand. "Between your half-assed effort, shitty temper, and utter lack of any _sliver_ of strategic thinking, you're more of an obstacle than the enemy team!"

"Christ, Meg, who do you think you are?! I'll 1v1 you any day of the goddamn week, and we'll be wiping your sorry insides off of the practice arena for _hours!"_

Leo wrung his hands together awkwardly. "Guys, I really don't think—"

"Shut up, Leo! Stay out of this!"

Four massaged her temple; she was feeling a headache coming on. For some reason, she felt as if she understood Three a little better now. And if that wasn't a bad sign, she didn't know what was.

"God, Ricky, you're insufferable!" Meagan cried. "I think you've insulted every member of this team in the last five minutes. We're tired of your shit! I don't even know why Lynn puts up with you at all!"

"Don't know why she puts up with _me?_ What about you? Always putting words in her mouth like you're her best friend and shit. Huh, Lynn?"

Four felt three sets of eyes on her as she stood up, forehead still clutched in one hand. "I think," she enunciated, "that I'm not having fun on this team anymore."

"Oh," Meagan said.

"W-well," Leo mumbled, "losing isn't fun for anyone, but I think that if we keep trying, we can still turn this around."

"It's not that we're losing," Four said. "I can lose and have fun. I've got a friend I train with sometimes—I've pretty much never beaten her, but I always have a great time. Even though she can be kind of a bitch. But when every single loss is followed by all this _complaining_ and _arguing,_ suddenly I feel myself wanting to just not bother. Have you ever considered that the reason we're performing worse than before is because our teamwork has faltered? Not to mention our _morale."_

Ricky crossed his arms. "Well, maybe if Meagan could help herself from insulting me every two seconds, I'd be more upbeat about the whole ordeal."

Four sighed. "Look. I'm not super happy with her right now, either, but you're the main problem, Ricky."

"Are you kidding?" Ricky made a face of pure indignation. It looked kind of like roadkill. "How on Earth is this my fault?"

Four felt like she was about to pop a blood vessel. "Seriously? We were barely a foot into the locker room before you started complaining and spitting up any excuses you could rationalize. It's _exhausting._ You either need to find a better attitude, or a different team."

The room went still. Leo looked nervously back and forth between Lynn and Ricky, fiddling with his charger. Meagan was just kind of sitting there with an 'oh shit' expression on her face.

"Fine," Ricky said, grabbing his dualies. "You guys can keep on losing without me. I'm out."

"Don't forget to do the paperwork!" Four called as he walked towards the door. "It can be a real hassle!"

"Fuck you, Lynn!" he shouted, slamming the door behind him.

"Well damn," Meagan said after a beat. "So… okay, then."

"You were right, Meg," Four grumbled. "I was tired of his shit."

"Oh wow. I'm not sure I've heard you swear before."

Four sighed and cupped her face in her hands. "Yeah, well, I'm really tired and stressed out right now."

"I think you made the right choice," Leo said cautiously. "Ricky, he's… he's great, but, he, uh, has some issues?"

"I hope you're right," Four said. "We don't have a replacement lined up, and if we can't find one soon…"

Meagan nodded. "Then we can't play in any tournaments. Yeah."

"Well, he played point, so that's good at least," Leo said. "If he'd been an anchor or a mid, replacing him would be even harder."

"I don't suppose you guys have anyone in mind?" Four asked. They both shook their heads. "Alright, well. I'm sure I'll be able to find someone."

Meagan put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey. You're a great captain, Lynn, and you've been a great friend ever since school. Hell, you're the reason any of us, Ricky included, had a chance to play in the big leagues. Ricky may be an ungrateful little bastard, but we really appreciate you picking us to be on your team, and we're here for you, okay?"

"Yeah," Leo said. "We'll find a new teammate, and we'll be back on our feet in no time. You're Lynn Lothamer, youngest squid to ever win the National Turf War Championship! You got this."

Four smiled. "Thanks, guys. Alright. Be on your lookout for talent; I want a full team again by the end of the week." She stood up, pulling her street clothes on over her undershirt. "We're going to need to practice extra hard if we want to integrate a new member into our rhythm."

"There we go!" Meagan said. "That's more like it! Let's do this!"

"Yeah!" Four said, pumping a fist. "Fresh Ink's looking for a comeback, baby!"

* * *

Four's goal-oriented enthusiasm drained in record time, and two hours later, she found herself walking up to the frozen aisle of MakoMart, opening one of the freezers, and shoveling containers of rocky road ice cream into her basket.

"What the fuck."

Four turned and saw Three standing a few feet away with her own cart, which was filled with a much more balanced selection of food products. Four looked from cart to cart, and felt her cheeks grow a little bit yellow. Of course _today_ was the day she randomly ran into Three in public. "Look, I had a bad day, okay?"

"Apparently. I'm honestly more offended by the fact that it's _all_ rocky road. Like, I get that you have the worst possible taste imaginable, but could you at least have a wide variety of awful tastes?"

"If you could only ever eat pizza or rats for the rest of your life, would you ever choose the rats just for variety's sake? No! That'd be stupid!"

"Well, tough luck, because you ran into me," Three said, grabbing a tub of vanilla and throwing it in Four's basket. "There. Now I'll be able to sleep tonight. Also: that was a weird ass analogy you just used."

Four huffed. "Whatever. Hey, uh, Three, it's funny we ran into each other, because I'm actually looking for—"

"Sorry, I'd love to stay and chat, but I can hear the watermelons calling to me, so—"

"Come on, Three! I'm really in a bind here. At least hear me out, alright?"

Three performed the singular most dramatic eye roll Four had ever borne witness to, and then let out an equally theatrical sigh, just to really drive the point home, Four guessed. "I _suppose._ But make it quick. Eight only likes one very specific brand of peanut butter and it's a _bitch_ to find."

"Great!" Four said, totally ignoring all of Three's nonsense. "So, you know I'm a professional turfer, right?"

"It baffles me endlessly, but, yes, I am aware."

"So, one of my teammates—he was the other point player, besides me, on dualies—he had to quit the team this morning, and it was kind of sudden. So we're looking for a new member, and since you're literally the best player I've ever met, it'd be a _huge_ help if you could fill in for—"

"No," Three said, before angling her cart down an aisle and walking off.

"Wait wait wait!" Four said, running along after her. "Please just think about it! I complimented you and everything!"

"I don't need to think about it," Three said, turning to grab a box of cereal. She briefly looked at the ingredients label before shrugging and dumping three of them into her cart. "This isn't exactly the first time you've brought it up. Did you think my answer would change?"

Four groaned, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. "Three, I'm super desperate, and I'm asking as a friend. Look, you wouldn't even have to stay on—just until we can find someone else!"

"No," Three repeated. "Do you know where they keep the brownie mix? Eight said she's never had brownies before and I need to fix that."

"That's horrible. Aisle five, I think." Four paused. "And why not? Do you really hate the idea of working with me that much?"

That, it seemed, finally got Three to stop thinking about groceries, because she turned to Four and gave her a stare that toed the line between 'Are you kidding me?' and 'Bitch what the fuck?'. "Four. I can't believe I'm saying this, but the fact that you'd be on the team with me is literally the _only_ thing you've got going for you."

"Oh," Four said, because it was the only thing coming to mind.

"I give tours to people who don't even bother to remember my name when it's printed on my goddamn shirt, and that gives me anxiety like you wouldn't believe. You really think I could get up in front of a stadium where I'm the main fucking event? I mean, god, can you imagine me with _fans?_ That'd just be awful.

"And besides," she added, beginning to push her cart again, "even if I did want to, I couldn't. I've got a job. And now with Eight living with me, there's just no way I could balance all that; I've got a lot of shit to get done." She gave Four a pointed look. "Like grocery shopping."

Four rubbed her arm. "Right. Sorry I asked."

"Apology accepted."

Four paused, her mind going back to something Three had said at the beginning of her big rant. "Wait. You give tours?"

Three froze. "Shit."

Before Four knew what was happening, Three kicked out in a leg-sweep, causing Four to crash to the ground. She let out a squeak of surprise and pain, spilling her basket of ice cream all over the ground, and watched as Three ran forward and jumped, cart-surfing her way across the rest of the aisle before making a sharp turn out of sight.

"Rude," Four murmered, picking herself back up. Guh.

You know, that would probably be a great disarming move with her brush if she got the hang of it. It would totally be legal, too, as long as she used her brush and not her leg. If Three wouldn't play herself, then Four was at least happy to steal her techniques.

She made her way to an open register, and slammed down her basket of ice cream. The clerk looked as if she were going to say something, but Four beat her to punch, simply saying, "It's been a long day."

The cashier frowned. "Yeah, but… rocky road?"

Four grit her teeth and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Just… what's my total?"

* * *

When Four returned to her apartment, Marie was already there, sitting in her armchair and reading the latest issue of some music magazine. Four rolled her eyes as she shut the front door and hung up her keys, grabbing her bags of ice cream and walking into her apartment. Marie showing up randomly in her (locked) apartment was a much more common occurrence than it had any right to be; not that she really minded. Her and Marie were super close, and it was nice to see her so often, if occasionally frustrating how easily she seemed to bypass Four's apartment security. But right now, Four didn't know if she wanted to talk, or just to be alone.

"Marie, what are you doing here?" she asked. "How did you get in?"

"What's up, baby?" Marie said, dodging the question as usual. She closed her magazine and hurled it over her shoulder, where it crashed into a bookcase. "I was in the neighborhood. Thought I might drop by. But you were out, so I made myself at home. You know: to give you a nice surprise for the eyes for when you got back."

Four sighed. "Stop with the flirting, Marie. I'm not in the mood."

Marie looked at her quizzically as she passed her. Four flung open the fridge, and began stuffing it with the tubs of ice cream, leaving one out on the counter. As she fumbled with the packaging, Marie spoke up from behind her.

"Sorry," she began, her voice much more genuine than most people ever heard from her. "Does that make you uncomfortable? I think it's funny since you're ace and all but if you want me to stop—"

"No, no, it's—" Four grunted, ripping the plastic off in one grand gesture. "It's fun, usually. I just had a bad day today."

"Ah. Well that explains the ice cream." She hopped up on the counter, crossing her legs. "Professional turfer woes again?"

"Yeah. We got into another fight, and I kind of snapped at Ricky, and so he quit the team."

"Oh damn." Marie paused. "Honestly, kind of sounds like a change for the better."

"Probably. Meg thinks so. But I still feel bad; I've been friends with him since high school. I mean, that's true for all of them, and Ricky I recruited more for ability than personality, but I can't help but feel like I'm throwing a long-term friendship in the trash over some dumb game."

Marie shrugged. "People change. I mean, look at Three."

"I've only known her for a few months, remember?"

"Oh yeah, I always forget that. You two just seem so close." She waved her hand dismissively. "Well, anyway, Three was a _totally _different person back when we first met. Imagine all her current character facets stuffed into an angsty sixteen-year-old body, and then add in even more identity and self-worth issues. It was a _disaster._ But now, she's mostly a functional member of society." She smirked. "I almost feel like a proud older sister."

Four dug a spoon out of the utensil drawer and popped open the ice cream tub's lid. "I think I lost track of your point sometime along the way."

"Well, if Three can make that much personal progress in two years, I think it's understandable that Ricky can go the other way, you know? From everything you told me about him, he was _not_ a good team player, and he was stressing you out a ton. I think you're gonna have a lot more fun playing without him."

"If we _can_ keep playing. It's not as easy as you'd think to find decent replacement players." Four shoveled a few spoonfuls of ice cream into her mouth. "Hey, you want any ice cream? I think I may have bought too much."

Marie gave her a flat look. "That depends. Got anything that isn't rocky road?"

"Excuse you!" Four cried, her mouth still full. "Why does everybody hate rocky road?!"

"It's disgusting," Marie. "Why would you do that to chocolate ice cream?"

"You sound like _Three,"_ Four said.

"Rude."

"I got one thing of vanilla," Four grumbled out after a moment. "I don't even want it, so you can have it."

"Sweet."

* * *

Eight was laying down on her and Three's bed, scrolling through her phone. She was reading a recent Inkopolis Times article, headlined "Off the Hook Wedding Announced as Private." Apparently, a decent sector of people were upset that their wedding wouldn't also double as a concert, which was honestly a very stupid thing to think, even for native surface-dwellers.

Most of the info was stuff she already knew, though. She sighed and closed out of the app, looked at her various other apps, and then rolled her eyes and went on that dumb construction site infinite runner Pearl had gotten her to download when she had first gotten her phone.

But just as she was getting going, her game was interrupted by an incoming call from Four.

"Hello, this is Eight!"

"_Hi Eight, it's Four! Hey, are you looking for a job?"_

"No."

"_Oh."_ Four went quiet for a second. _"Well, if someone offered you a job, would you take it?"_

"Maybe," Eight said. "Are you offering me a job?"

"_Uh, yeah! My pro turfing team needs a new player, and you'd be perfect!"_

"Um, well. I guess I like turfing. But I've never considered doing it professionally."

"_Don't worry, you'd kill it!"_

"Hmm. I dunno…"

"_I mean, don't you get bored with Three at work all day?"_

"I mean a little."

"_Don't you wanna make new friends?"_

"Yeah…"

"_Don't you want to help support your girlfriend financially, since she's now paying for your apartment and food?"_

Eight frowned. "Are you trying to guilt trip me?"

"_Um."_ Four went quiet again. _"You know what that is?"_

"Marina did it to Pearl constantly," Eight explained. "Well, ignoring that, you make a good case. Let me just check in with Three first."

"_Wait don't!"_ Four said quickly. _"She's just gonna say no! Besides, you don't need her permission."_

"I just want her opinion. Why would she say no?"

"_Because she's Three!"_ Four exclaimed. _"Look, why don't you just come to one practice with us to see how you like it, okay? What Three doesn't know won't hurt us."_

"…Okay," Eight relented. "What do I need to do?"

"_Just come by Deca Tower tomorrow at two! Oh, and bring your turfing stuff, obviously."_

"Alight," Eight said. "See you then, I guess?"

"_See you then!"_ Four said cheerily, before the line clicked dead.

Eight pulled the phone away from her ear. The screen returned to her game, and the Inkling immediately slammed into a wrecking ball and splatted.

Eight sighed. "Darn it, Four."


	17. 6-2: Welcome Aboard

Eight arrived at Deca Towers exactly on time, her ink tank already strapped to her back and her tentatek splattershot at the ready. Four was nowhere in sight, so she awkwardly leaned against one of the walls of the League lobby and pulled out her phone. She saw an unread message from Four: it said she was running late. Something about a pigeon? Well, whatever. Eight stuffed her phone back into her pocket and turned to look at one of the battle info screens.

League matches were running Splat Zones at the moment, on Arowana Mall and Blackbelly Skatepark. Okay, she could work with that—Splat Zones was simple and straightforward. Without the need to push deep into enemy territory like in the other modes, she could focus on splatting her opponents and keeping the advantage.

"Hey, I like your hair."

Eight turned her head towards the girl standing next to her. She was wearing a pink transparent visor, slightly cocked to one side, and had lopsided, wavy tentacles framing her face: one fell down past her shoulders, while the other hung right at her mouth. She also had a slosher propped up against one hip.

"Uh, thanks," Eight said. "I like your hair too."

She smiled. "Thanks! Hey, not to pry, but, uh, aren't you that girl who superjumped onto the stage during the Off the Hook concert last week?"

Eight spluttered. "…Maybe?"

"Hey, it's cool," the girl said, flipping her longer tentacle back. "I'm not trying to get to them through you or anything. Just thought it'd be neat to talk to you."

"Um, okay," Eight said. This was a weird conversation. Nobody had recognized her until now. Or, well, it was more that whenever they were in public, Three just glared at anyone coming up to talk to them and scared them off. "I hope I'm sufficiently neat for you."

She laughed. "So, you play League, huh? You don't seem to be here with anyone."

"This is my first time, actually," Eight said. "The person I normally turf with hates league. She says it's for 'preppy losers who think they're hot shit' and refuses to touch it." She paused. "No offense, though, I'm sure you're great."

"None taken," the girl said, laughing again. "I pretty much agree with that anyway. I actually play in tournaments usually; my team just uses league to practice when we don't have any other teams to play at the Shoal. The competition usually leaves something to be desired compared to the real thing."

Eight nodded, pursing her lips. "Hey, um, your team wouldn't be trying out a new member today, would it?"

The girl's eyes widened. "Yeah, we are, but how… Wait, are you—"

Before she could come to the same realization as Eight had, a male inkling with a bowl cut and a charger reached over and tapped her on the shoulder. "Hey, Meg. Captain's here."

All three of them turned to see Four rushing into the lobby, panting slightly. She jogged up to them, leaned on her inkbrush, and wiped her brow.

"Sorry guys, I got held up. There was this pigeon, and—well, it's a long story. Anyway, I see you've already met each other, huh?"

"Sort of," said 'Meg.'

Bowl-cut boy looked confused. His eyes shifted between Eight and Four. "What's going on?"

"She's gonna be our new member," Four explained

"After we test her out, of course," Meg said, giving Four a look.

"I mean, yeah," Four said. "But I'm pretty confident in her."

Eight smiled. Thanks, Four!

Meg turned back to Eight and held out a hand. "I don't think I ever properly introduced myself; I'm Meagan, our slosher. And he"—she jerked her head towards the other inkling—"is Leo, our charger."

Eight reached out and took her hand. Handshakes still struck her as a weird social gesture, but after she really screwed up her first one with Three way back when, she'd made sure to learn how to perform one correctly. "I'm Eight. Uh, splattershot. Nice to meet you!"

"Eight?" Leo asked. "Like the number?"

Eight nodded. "Yeah."

"Huh."

Meagan cut through the now-kinda-awkward air by turning to Four, and asking, "Yo, Lynn, you didn't tell us you were friends with someone who's friends with Off the Hook!"

Eight could see the gears turning in Four's head. After a minute, she said, "Oh, yeah, that. Um. Well, I'm not really supposed to talk about it."

"That makes sense," Leo said.

Meagan smirked. "You were still holding out on us, though. I bet you can get free concert tickets and everything."

Four rolled her eyes. "I wish."

"They didn't give you free tickets?" Eight said. "We got free tickets."

Four turned on her. "Seriously?! Even Three?"

Eight nodded.

"Those cheapskates. I'm gonna have to grill Pearl about that next time I see her."

"This is so surreal," Meagan said. "Also, why do so many of your friends have names that are numbers?"

"It's a long story that we don't have time for. Is everybody ready to turf?"

They all nodded.

"Alright then, let's go!" Four lifted her inkbrush towards the ceiling, and Meagan and Leo let out an enthusiastic 'Yeah!' Meanwhile, Eight just kind of watched them do that while she stood there like a normal person. Four looked at her. "Eight, you gotta do it too."

Maybe it was Three's influence, but Eight thought they looked dumb, so she said, "I'll pass."

"Eight you gotta do it or you're not on the team."

"But you're the one who asked me to be on the team."

Four frowned, grabbed Eight's arm, lifted it in the air, and shouted "Yeah!" in a very lackluster imitation of Eight's voice.

"Can we go battle now?" Eight asked.

"Yeah, _now,_" Four said. "Come on."

* * *

The map: Blackbelly skatepark. The plan: Four and Eight get as many splats as possible while Meagan and Leo hold down the fort.

The sound of the start buzzer was perfectly accompanied by the sound of Leo's charger going off, nailing the inkrail in front of the spawn. All four of them jumped onto the rail; Leo rode it all the way to the right-side battlements, but the rest of them ejected mid-way and took off towards the zones. Eight spewed ink over the top half of the central tower, while Meagan dumped her slosher on the bottom half. As Meg began scaling the tower, Eight tossed a splat bomb on top just for good measure before flanking around the side using the trail of Four's inkbrush.

All four members of the enemy team were in sight; they had some kind of dualies and what looked to be an aerospray in the front lines, a splattershot pro as their mid, and a heavy splatling as their anchor. Four was already closing in on the dualies, so Eight focused on the girl with the aerospray. She fired one shot right in the girl's face to get her attention, and then kept shooting while making sure to stay outside of the aerospray's range. The girl, quickly realising she was losing the fight, fell back into her ink; Eight just leapt forward, predicted her movement, and hit her while she was submerged.

But just as she splatted her, Eight heard the sound of the splatling starting to fire, and jumped down into one of the splat zones for cover. This happened to be where Meagan, still on top of the tower, was raining a hail of ink down on the splattershot pro, who was desperately trying to both dodge and hit her at the same time. He wasn't doing particularly well, but his splatling friend shifted her aim at Meagan, and forced her to retreat back down their side of the tower. The splattershot pro ran off to give chase, so Eight just shot him in the back and dipped down to recharge her ink.

Eight popped back up onto the high ground where the Heavy Splatling had been; Four was still there, though she looked a bit overwhelmed. She'd managed to splat the dualies, but she'd apparently tripped an ink mine in doing so, and she was having trouble closing in on the splatling. To make matters worse, now the aerospray was back, and—oh, yep, there went Four.

The splatling, needing to rev up again, tossed out a sprinkler and retreated into her team's territory. Eight countered with a splat bomb, which forced the aerospray to take an awkward path to skirt around it. A few splattershot shots later, and she was once more down for the count. Eight swam forward after the splatling and jumped off the top of the half-pipe. The enemy had revved up her splatling by now, and she hefted it up to shoot at Eight, but she twisted in midair and managed to dodge enough bullets to stay alive. She came down hard right on top of the splatling's barrel, causing the barrage to stop prematurely as it was ripped from its owner's hands. Balancing precariously on the weapon, she shot the inkling right in the face a few times until she exploded.

She was pretty sure that was a legal maneuver, but she'd have to ask Four after the match.

She was knocked out of her thoughts, however, by an ink-jet bomb exploding right next to her feet. She jumped backwards, handspringing over enemy ink to get back to her own, and shifted into her octopus form right as another shot blasted down just millimeters from where she was. She swam backwards, only to run out of ink, and sheepishly emerged to stare down the inkling boy piloting the jet. He was the dualies-user, she believed. He raised the canon at her, and she bent down into a defensive position, but it turned out there was no need, as Leo unloaded a charger shot straight into his gut from the battlements.

Eight turned around to give him a thumbs up, but cringed as he was splatted almost immediately by their splattershot pro, who had snuck around on a flank. Eight was about to run over there and take revenge, but Meagan beat her to it—she ran at the aggressor with a warcry, flinging her slosher around faster than Eight's eyes could track. The boy raised an eyebrow at her and began firing, but confusion quickly turned to fear as the massive amount of spray from Meagan's slosher absorbed all his ink. She kept pushing forward, each swing more ferocious than the last, and before too long, her opponent succumbed to the tide of ink, splatting forcefully against the ground and walls.

Eight mentally reminded herself not to get on Meagan's bad side without an exit plan.

She spent the spare moments she had making sure the zones were still all nice and inked-up, and Meagan came to join her a second later, climbing once again up onto the tower. "You're doing great!" she shouted down. "These guys are pretty good, but you've barely gotten splashed."

"Thanks!" Eight said. "I think I would've been dead to that ink jet without Leo watching my back, though."

Meagan laughed. "Girl, Leo is saving our asses _constantly_. Lynn always says it's like having an extra life with him on the team."

Eight smiled, but it didn't last long as a point sensor exploded on top of them. _"Sherauste,"_Eight swore, looking around to spot the enemy approaching. She could only see the splattershot pro and the dualies; no sign of the aerospray or the Heavy Splatling. And as the icing on the cake, she could feel the acidic pitter-patter of an inkstorm threatening to splat her.

Eight felt Leo's superjump lock onto her, so after a quick check to make sure nobody was sneaking up on them, she rushed in to engage so he had space to land. The boy using the dualies was, predictably, in front, and he threw out a suction bomb as she approached. Eight jumped, kicked off the suction bomb, and angled towards the tower, raining fire down on the boy as she passed. He rolled out of the way, and out from behind him, the splattershot pro began firing on her. The ink storm above continued to weaken her; it wouldn't splat her anytime soon, but if she took a hit from either of them, it would suddenly be much more of a threat.

She hit the surface of the tower and swam up the side, jumping out near the top and latching onto the edge with one hand. She hurled a splat bomb at the splattershot pro and kicked off the wall, launching herself to the side of his fire and covering his exits with her ink. The bomb blew him up just as Eight crashed to the ground, her ink tank exhausted. Fortunately, she'd been moving against the ink storm, and was in the clear.

But there was no time to take a breather. A burning glob of ink struck her in the back of the ankle—right, the dualies. Without any other options, she activated her inkjet, launching up towards the heavens. She rapidly morphed forms and strafed to the left and right to throw off his aim as she turned herself around, then managed to nail him right in the chest with a cannon shot. Her jet ran out and she flipped back to her starting location—only to find herself staring down the barrel of a heavy splatling.

"See ya," said the girl before her, before unleashing a barrage of ink. Eight threw herself to the side and managed to dodge the brunt of it, but the girl simply swiveled around, and Eight bit back a curse as the foreign ink crashed into her shoulder.

"HYA!"

Eight jumped a bit as a yellow inkbrush appeared out of nowhere, slamming into the splatling girl's head. Her aim skewed up as she weathered the blow, and Eight neatly ducked under the remainder of the bullets, fighting to retain her solidity. Before the girl could reorient herself, Four slapped her in the torso with the backswing, then shifted into a reverse grip and delivered a harsh thrust to the gut with the tip of her brush's handle. The girl doubled over, and Four brought the brush down in a devastating overhead strike, slamming her to the pavement where she erupted into ink.

"And that's legal?" Eight asked.

Four smirked. "As long as I'm using my weapon, anything's legal. You can't touch the other person physically, but you can do whatever you want with your weapon, or to your opponent's weapon."

"I guess it's hard to go too far when we're already killing each other for sport," Eight mused.

"Well, when you put it that way, it sounds barbaric."

Their conversation was cut short as Leo swam up to them, popping out of his ink and using the scope on his charger to keep watch on the enemy's spawn. "The aerospray snuck up on me and Meg," he explained. "I had to use my special to shut her down. Meg should jump back soon, but I think we've won anyway."

Eight looked up at the score screen; sure enough, they were only a few seconds away from victory. Meagan didn't even have time to complete her superjump before the final buzzer rang, and the teams exited back out into the lobby.

The girl with the splatling seemed to be the leader of the enemy team, and walked up to them, offering a hand to Four. "Whew! That was humbling."

Four laughed a bit as she shook her hand. "Thanks, but don't sell yourselves short. You almost had us with that last minute push!"

Eight frowned. That was incorrect. They had only splatted one person, and hadn't even inked enough of the objective to reset control. But perhaps Four was just being polite?

"Please," said splatling girl. "Thanks, but we know when we're beat." Ah. Politeness it was, then. "Besides, you're Lynn Lothamer, right? You're, like, the real deal. We're just hobbyists."

Four laughed again. It sounded kind of fake? But not in a rude way. More like she was just trying to fill space. "Right, right. Well, nice meeting you! Maybe we'll see you again sometime."

"Hope not!"

With that, both teams went their separate ways. Eight thought now would be a great time to ask a question she'd had for a while now. "Hey, Four? Why does everybody call you Lynn?"

Four stopped. "Uh, right, yeah. So… that's my name?"

"…Oh," Eight said. Right. She'd forgotten about that whole… code name thing.

On the other side of Four, Meagan snorted. "So, Lynn, why does Eight call you Four?"

"Uhhh." Four bit her lip. "That's, um, it's an inside joke."

"Is it now?" Meagan inquired, smirking.

"Yeah," Four said. "See, it's because, uh..." Four shot Eight a desperate look.

"It's…" Hmm. "It's because she's only half as good as I am. Eight, Four… you know! Math!"

Meagan laughed. "Nice."

"So anyway," Four said, rolling her eyes, "Eight! You did great!"

"Yeah!" Leo said. "You totally took me by surprise out there! I mean, you did even better than Lynn."

"Twice as good," Eight said. "Math!"

"Well, let's not get carried away," Four said.

"Leo's right though," Meagan said. "She didn't get splatted once, and she was constantly on the front lines. I saw her completely solo two people at once while trapped in an ink storm!"

Eight smiled. She had done that, hadn't she? "So, did I make the team?"

"Hell yeah," Meagan said. "You're gonna be _so_ much more useful than Ricky ever was."

"Not the… _highest_ bar to clear," Leo mumbled.

"There's just one more thing," Four said. "I don't really want people recognizing you, so you'd probably have to wear a mask of some kind while you're playing."

Eight shrugged. "That's fine."

Leo nodded. "Right. We don't want people to make the connection between her and Off the Hook; that could get out of hand."

Four looked at him. "What? Oh, uh, yeah. That's the reason."

"Yo, that's gonna be so cool though!" Meagan said. "A mysterious new player that won't even show her face? That's such a good angle! Aw man, we are gonna be back and better than ever before!"

"That's the spirit!" Four said, pumping a fist. Then, she turned to Eight. "You ready to keep on practicing? There's a tournament coming up next week, and I want you to really be locked into our dynamic before then."

"Sure," Eight said with a smile. A tournament, huh? She'd never really had a chance to show off her skills before—at least, not to anyone besides Three, but that didn't count because Three had just as many skills (if not more). This should be fun!

"Sweet!" Four said. "Let's go splat some zones!"

Eight frowned. "Four, stop."

* * *

Eight took a bite out of her sandwich, chewing blissfully after a long day of practicing with Four and her team. They'd only dropped a couple games out of, like, twenty, which was pretty good in Eight's book.

She looked across the dinner table at Three and tapped a talon against the table. Hmm. Well, now was as good a time as any. "So, I joined Four's turfing team," she began. "I'll be playing in a tournament with them next week. Just thought you should know."

Three, who was in the middle of drinking her water, slammed her glass onto the table and gulped down an entire mouthful of liquid. "WHAT."

* * *

Four was sitting at her desk, looking over the paperwork she needed to give to Eight and contemplating whether she had a social security number or not, when she heard a knock coming from what sounded like the dining room window. This was curious for a few reasons, but the main one was that her apartment was on the fifth floor. It was probably just a family of birds that crashed into the window.

She hoped that was the case, at least.

Such hopes were unceremoniously shattered as another set of knocks came, followed by someone yelling "OPEN UP!" in a familiar voice: raspy, aggressive, and comically high pitched for those first two adjectives. Four set down her papers, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath to mentally prepare herself.

"OPEN UP, BITCH!"

Four's deep breath quickly transformed into a frustrated growl as she stood up from her desk and marched over to the window. As expected, Three was outside, pounding on the glass and yelling. She even had the cups of her tentacles suctioned onto the upper part of the window for extra support, which, while athletically quite impressive, was _totally_ going to leave a permanent mark.

Four slid up the window and gave Three an irritated look. "I _have_ a door, you know."

"I don't respect you enough right now to use your door," Three said, before transforming into her squid form. Still attached to Four's window by her tentacles, she swung out away from Four, and then used the momentum of the follow through to launch herself inside. She flew straight at Four's stomach, but before she slammed into her, Four knocked her to the ground with a harsh downwards slap. She wasn't going to let herself get body slammed by Three's squid form _again._

Three transformed back and got up as if nothing had happened, crossing her arms and glaring at Four. "Do you know why I'm here?"

"Three. Please." Four gave her a tired look. "Just, please, this one time, could you have a normal conversation with me?"

"You had Eight join your team behind my back!"

"Uh! Excuse you!" Four said. "Possessive much? She can make her own decisions."

Three just glared some more. "She said that you _explicitly_ told her not to tell me."

"Yeah, duh," Four said. "You would've convinced her not to do it! Now she has a job, and she'll be able to make friends outside of the NSS. And she likes it!"

Three looked conflicted. Don't get Four wrong, she was still absolutely raging, but it was a conflicted sort of rage. "I—urgh!" She flung her hands on her head and began to pace. "Yes, you're right, and that's great and I'm happy for her but—but all those _people_ that watch those games! After what happened at the concert, she's got enough attention on her already. I just have a bad feeling about this. If not me, you should have at _least_ gotten an okay from Gramps."

"Are you sure you aren't just projecting?"

Three's head swiveled around to face her. "Four, I am _keenly_ aware of my own personal flaws, and I really don't appreciate you trying to go all therapist on my ass. This isn't me making excuses, this is me worrying about Eight's safety."

"I think you're being a bit paranoid," Four said. "Eight beat Commander Tartar, Octavio's back in his snow globe, and I'm seeing more and more liberated Octolings every day. I think we're good."

That just seemed to stress Three out even more. "No, you don't—you're new at this, okay? The Octarians don't stop just because their leader gets captured. You weren't on the team yet when we interviewed Marina; she told us all about their power structures. Did you know that there's such a thing as a vice-DJ?" She'd started pacing again. "They raided the shack, broke him out… they could do it again. And, and Kamabo—Tartar's an AI_,_ not a robot_._ He's gotta still be preserved _somewhere,_ right? Destroying the phone doesn't mean he's gone. And, hell, the metro's still running! Callie and Marie went with Gramps to check it out last month. You were there for that briefing!"

Four frowned, and grabbed her by the arm. _"Three."_

The younger inkling stopped in her tracks, turning on Four. _"Lynn."_

Four shuddered. "Oh, that is _so_ weird."

"Yeah, you're right," Three said, making a face. "I thought it would sound all authoritative, but—yeah, no, it's just weird."

Four looked Three in the eye, and shaped her mouth into what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "Look, I _promise_ it'll be okay. She's nearly as good a fighter as you are, and she has me and the rest of Fresh Ink as backup. Even if someone does come after her, which I still think is incredibly unlikely, I'd be more worried about _them _getting hurt, not Eight."

"Forgive me if don't have the utmost faith in your teammates," Three deadpanned.

"Uh, well…" Four hummed, putting a finger to her chin. She could feel an idea coming on. "Maybe we can change that?"

"That sounds suspiciously like you want me to meet them."

"What if you train them?" Four asked. Now she was getting somewhere! "Yeah, yeah! They could honestly benefit a lot from some one-on-one technical training, and you could be more confident in their evil-smashing abilities!"

Three eyed her, mouth a thin line. Silent. Scrutinizing.

"I'd pay you, obviously," Four added. "Or, our sponsor would, or something, I don't know. And we have a flexible schedule, it wouldn't cut into your other job. Where you give tours, apparently."

"You're never gonna let that go, huh?"

Four laughed. "Nope! My current bet is that you work at d'Alfonsino."

"I'm not going to tell you if you're right," Three said. "And, fine. I'll train your dumb teammates."

"Aw, sweet! I was honestly totally expecting you to turn me down."

"Yeah, whatever," Three grumbled, turning back towards the window. "Text me the details later." Then she dove through the open window, immediately vanishing from sight.

Four just rolled her eyes. "Drama queen."


	18. 6-3: Montage

"Training?" Meagan raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that what our practices are for?"

Four shrugged. They were sitting in a small cafe in the Square, having just finished another practice session. Eight had needed to go to Pearl and Marina's right afterwards—something about the upcoming wedding—and so Four had taken the opportunity to invite Meagan and Leo out to coffee. "I mean, yeah, but those aren't as great for building up fine technical skills. You wanna get better, don't you? Well, this is how you're gonna do that."

Leo rubbed his chin. "So, what does this really entail? One-on-one matches against you and Eight?"

"Nah, not us. I've got the perfect person to train you. She's a good friend of mine. You'll love her." Four paused. "Well, no, you probably won't, but trust me—she's the best trainer you'll ever have."

Meagan and Leo exchanged a glance, and then Meagan tentatively asked, "Who… is it, exactly?"

Four smirked. "You'll find out."

* * *

Three eyed the two inklings before her: a girl wearing sunglasses on her forehead who was lugging around a slosher and a bad attitude, and a boy with that stupid-looking bowl tentacle cut who couldn't seem to stop fidgeting with his charger. She decided to call them Slosher and Charger. They both looked to be in their early twenties, which made things slightly awkward for Three, since she was only eighteen, but she was just gonna look past that. These were presumably Four's former classmates, and she had skipped a grade, so it made sense that they would be a bit older.

"_This_ is who Lynn set up to train us?" the girl whispered (poorly) to her friend. "She barely looks sixteen."

Three could feel a blood vessel swelling.

The boy whispered something back to her, but he was actually a halfway decent whisperer, so Three didn't manage to catch it.

"Alright, chucklefucks, listen up," Three barked, injecting as much authority into her voice as possible. "Just because Four's paying me by the hour doesn't mean that I wanna waste more time here than I have to."

"Why do you call Lynn 'Four?'" Slosher asked. "Eight does it too. It's weird, and neither of them will give me a straight answer."

"Okay, rule one," Three said, "no asking me any personal questions."

Slosher frowned. "I don't think that qualifies as a—"

"Shut up," Three interrupted. "So anyway. In order to assess your skill levels, I'm going to have to fight each of you separately to start things off. If you're not already synced to that spawn point"—she gestured at the spawn at the other side of the practice arena—"then go do that right now." Neither of them moved. "Great. So which one of you wants to go first?"

They looked at each other, then back to Three, before Charger said, "U-uh…"

"Thanks for volunteering. You stay here. Slosher, go to the sidelines and watch. This shouldn't take long."

Slosher gave her a nasty look. "My name is Meagan, you know."

"Cool," Three said. "Want a medal or something? We're not here to chat."

"How on Earth is Lynn your friend?" Charger asked, looking slightly uncomfortable.

"What did I say about personal questions? Please, just go to your spawn. We'll start in ten seconds."

The seconds passed agonizingly slowly; Three really just wanted to get into things. She actually enjoyed talking about battle techniques and stuff, so she thought this could be fun, but so far she'd just been… _conversing._ Uegh.

Eventually, the tenth second ticked by. Three shouted out to start, and took off across the battlefield, alternating between swimming through her ink and jumping out to shoot more before falling right back in again. Her feet never touched the ground. She quickly caught sight of Charger, who was on one of the practice arena's tall tower-like battlements. He knew he didn't need to push any ground, so he was just camping the best strategic position on the map; smart. Not enough, obviously, but smart.

He was using the Firefin, which meant he'd probably put up a splash wall once he figured out which way she was coming from. A feint, then. She hadn't caught if he was using a scope or not—likely, he was proficient with both, and switched as a counter pick—but it honestly probably wouldn't matter.

Three instinctually leaned to the side as his first shot flew over her shoulder, then lobbed a burst bomb up at him to get the sights off of her long enough to ink up the side of the platform and begin climbing. Just as she'd expected, Charger placed a splash wall right in front of where Three would emerge, so instead of swimming straight up, she jumped left off of the wall at the last moment, twisting around in the air to fire at him from her unexpected angle as she fell. To his credit, he reacted quickly enough to fire off a shot that was at least in Three's vicinity, but she didn't even have to dodge as she nailed him with three perfectly-placed shots. He exploded into ink, and Three stuck the landing.

"What the fuck was that," Slosher said from the sidelines.

Three shrugged. "Air control."

A few seconds later, Charger respawned. "Okay. I think I understand why Lynn picked you."

"Great. Slosher, you're up. Ten seconds."

She blinked. "I—okay."

They took their positions at opposite ends of the field, and then Three was off, taking a different route than previously. But either Slosher expected her to change things up, or hadn't bothered paying attention, because she was just charging down the middle, inking her way along. Her movement, at least, was fairly robust, but she didn't seem to be very situationally aware. Three easily maneuvered around behind her and began firing.

But when her first glob of ink splashed against the back of Slosher's head, she immediately reacted with a 180 spin, throwing a wave of ink towards Three. It managed to absorb the remainder of Three's shots, and she was forced to hop back a bit to dodge the fringe of the spray. Slosher immediately began a fierce assault, flinging her ink with a lot of strength and significantly less accuracy. She seemed to be focused on hindering Three's visibility more than anything else, but, to her credit, it _was_ working; it was hard to pinpoint her exact position through the hail of ink, much less track her with her heroshot.

So instead, Three began throwing burst bombs through gaps in her assault. She danced through her ink to avoid the slosher's spray, and popped up to lob a bomb whenever it was a good time, and after about four, she had apparently clipped Slosher enough that she splatted, the remaining ink from her last swing pattering posthumously to the ground.

She respawned shortly, shaking out her head. "How on Earth do you dodge like that? And was that _four_ fucking burst bombs in a _row?"_ she asked indignantly. "The hell's your ink capacity?!"

Three smirked. "First tip of the day: you never know how much ink your opponent's got in the tank."

"Jeez," Charger mumbled. "I thought Lynn had an abnormal capacity, but yours is insane."

"The inc sac's just a muscle," Three said. "Train it enough, and you can start dishing out a ton of ink with minimal recovery time. Don't they teach you that at Inkblot?"

"Yeah, but the amount of time you would have to spend battling for that kind of output…" Slosher trailed off, narrowing her eyes at Three. "Who _are_ you?"

Three glared at her. "This is the _last_ time I'm gonna say it: No. Personal. Questions. Okay?"

Slosher rolled her eyes, but didn't say anything.

"Alright. First, Charger: you're positioning's pretty good, and you seem to be a good strategizer, but you're aiming wrong."

He sighed. "Yeah, I know. I've been doing some target practice in my free time, but—"

"Not what I'm talking about," Three interrupted. "I mean, yeah, your technical aim and reflexes could use some work too, but I'm talking theoretical aim. In our match, you were aiming at the splash wall, expecting me to come up from there. Most opponents probably will, but you _should_ be aiming off to the side."

"I seriously doubt that anyone would pull a stunt like you did in a tournament setting," Slosher argued. "Even if it works out, it puts you way out of position."

Three shook her head. "You're thinking too small. Consider my feint to be someone coming at you from a side path, or climbing over cover instead of going around it. If you were already aiming at the unexpected path, not only would you have had a better chance of hitting me, but if I really _had_ come up the way you expected, you would have had plenty of time to quickly switch your aim to me and take me out, since the splash wall gives you extra leeway. That way, you cover both options instead of just one. Get it?"

"Uh, yeah, I think so?"

"Great. And now Slosher."

"Meagan."

"Slosher. Your fighting style is super fucking weird, which is a point in your favor; you'll definitely be able to catch people off guard with it. But if they can adapt to it, you're sunk. As soon as I landed that first burst bomb, you should have dropped a suction down and retreated to a better position. Not just keep at it and hope I fuck up."

"Suctions are so slow, though," Slosher countered. "You would've just shot me as I swam away."

"That whole hallway was covered in your ink," Three said. "You had escape options fucking everywhere—one of them would've worked. Maybe it's zigzag behind you, maybe it's climb a wall; hell, maybe you just swim towards them and slosher them in the face, I don't know. Combine that with a bomb that forces your opponent to move, and the worst you'll get is a trade, as long as you move around right. You can't play as aggressively as you do without knowing how to escape the shitty situations that ends up putting you in."

She crossed her arms. "I suppose. So, what now? More of that?"

"Nah. We're just going to move into an infinite time skirmish, two on one. I'll switch weapons every so often to keep things fresh. It'll build your teamwork as well as your individual skills." She threw her hero shot into her bag and took out the hero roller, flicking it a couple times as a test. It'd been forever since she'd used this thing. She'd had to strip all the mods off, too, so that it functioned like the replicas, and the extra lightness would take a few moments to get used to. "Hey, how about a game. For each time you two can splat me, I'll let you ask me one personal question."

"What kind of incentive is that?" Slosher asked.

"I don't know, Meg," Charger said. "I've got a few in mind I'd like to ask."

"Don't get too excited," Three quipped, already walking off to her spawn. "I don't plan to go easy on you."

* * *

Meagan and Leo left their first training session with sore muscles, respawn nausea, and no new information about the girl training them, not even a name.

* * *

The week went by frighteningly fast from Eight's perspective—before she knew it, she and the rest of Fresh Ink were waiting in their locker room in the stadium.

"Nervous?" Four asked, taking a seat on the bench next to her.

Eight shrugged, fiddling with the gas mask that covered the lower half of her face. "A little. It's silly, though. I know I'm plenty good enough."

"It's weird like that," Four said. "I don't think there's a squid on this planet that doesn't get nervous at times like these."

"Yeah." Eight sighed. "I just hope the crowds don't get to me. I don't want to do worse because of stage fright. Arena fright?"

"Stadium fright?" Four offered.

"That's a good one."

"Well." Four smiled. "I think you'll do great."

Eight smiled back. "I hope so."

* * *

Eight jumped over a roller, dropped a splat bomb, fell into her ink, wove between shots, and popped up to shoot the N-Zap she was fighting right in the face. The roller behind her managed to evade her bomb, but she heard the sound of Leo's gun go off, no doubt catching him out of his dodge. Meanwhile, Eight handsprung over an enemy charger shot, threading her movements in and out of cover until she was on top of the E-Liter. She splatted him, too, and then turned around as Four clobbered the remaining enemy to death with her brush.

Meagan, with the Rainmaker on her back, inked the podium with one powerful hurl of her slosher and climbed up, slamming the Rainmaker down hard. The buzzer rang out.

"_And that's game!"_ called one of the commentators.

"_A decisive victory for team Fresh Ink,"_ said the other. _"They really chose their new member well! We'll see how she and the rest of them hold up further down the bracket, but that was one bold entrance into the quarterfinals."_

Eight wiped some stray ink off her cheek and waved up at the stands. Three was up there somewhere, but who knew where—there were so many people! And, to be honest, she was _loving_ the attention. Utterly destroying her opponents was a lot more fun with an audience! She had no idea why she'd been so nervous before; this was gonna be fun!

* * *

Four cursed as she respawned, rubbing at her side where she'd just gotten obliterated by a blaster. The phantom pains from one-hit kills were always the worst.

They'd made it to the finals—Tower Control on Manta Maria—without too much trouble, but the team they were up against, the Splat Dragons, weren't fooling around. The score had been going back and forth all game, the tower changing hands constantly and each team just barely managing to make it further than the other each time they seized control. The enemy had managed to push the tower to eight points remaining, but Meagan had pulled off a double kill and reclaimed the tower just before the clock ran out, and now they were pushing overtime to its limit. Four checked the map for a potential superjump, but cursed as she saw Meagan's icon get x-ed out right as she did. Too dangerous; she'd just have to swim for it.

She took off down the center of the map as quickly as she could, chasing after the tower. The announcers' voices were muffled through the ink, but she thought she heard something about Leo taking out the blaster that had just splatted her. So that was good. There he was now, actually, up on the raised drawbridge. Oh, and there was the enemy jet squelcher on the bridge behind him, and—oof. Goodbye, Leo.

So that just left Eight on the tower, and Four back here. And they needed to get to seven points remaining before Eight got splatted if they wanted to win. Hoo. Okay. They could pull this off.

The jet squelcher had crept around a flank route in order to get behind Leo, which put her, conveniently, right in Four's path. She popped out of her ink, and just as the squelcher noticed her, she hurled an autobomb as hard as she could right at the girl's head. It smashed into her nose with a satisfying _clonk,_ and she let out a curse, clutching her free hand to her bruised face. Four took advantage of the opportunity to run up and sweep out her legs with the head of her brush, just like Three had done to her back in that grocery store a week ago. The girl collapsed to the ground just as the autobomb began vibrating, and a second later, she went up in ink.

"_Lynn coming out of spawn hot, downing Shawna with a ingenuitive combo. She's really showing off her improvisational style today,"_ called one of the commentators.

"_Indeed, indeed,"_ said the other. _"I don't think I've ever seen someone use an autobomb as a blunt projectile before, but that metal casing has gotta hurt."_

Four took off towards the cart. Two more enemies to deal with, and they were home free.

"_Oh! And the mysterious newcomer Eight seems to have gotten out of the slump she found herself in during the fist half of the match, splatting Lucas without a scratch."_

Sorry—one more enemy to deal with.

Another few seconds, and the cart was in sight. Eight was standing on the front, head trained on the various platforms newly-spawned enemies could use to attack. Unfortunately, this meant she couldn't see the roller that was creeping up behind her.

"Eight!" Four shouted, running forward. No _way_ she'd make it in time, though. "Behind you!"

Eight turned, but the roller was already on its way down. It was over. They'd been so close, too!

And then Eight dropped her gun, reached out, and grabbed the roller by the shaft, inches from her face. She looked her opponent right in the eye, and spread her mouth into a devious smirk. Ink droplets dripped down onto her tentacles from the roller's head, but she ignored them, forming a splat bomb in her hand. The enemy could only watch, futilely trying to wrench his weapon out of Eight's iron grip, as the bomb fell to the ground, pulsated for a brief second, and exploded. The tower crawled forward the few remaining feet, and the buzzer sounded.

"_And with that astounding play, Fresh Ink just barely takes it over the Splat Dragons! What an intense match!"_

"_Wow! Talk about a finale, people!"_

As the commentators kept on commentating, Four just smiled, leaning on her inkbrush and breathing heavily. God, her hearts felt like they were about to explode.

She needed some ice cream.

* * *

"_FUCK_ yeah!" Three screeched, jumping up in her chair and throwing her fist in the air. "Get it, Eight! That's how ya fucking do it! Suck my _DICK,_ Splat Dragons!"

The manta ray sitting next to her, who happened to be wearing a Splat Dragons t-shirt, gave her a nasty look. "Uh, do you mind?"

Three stared at him for a second with a completely blank expression before grabbing her empty popcorn tub, tossing it in the air, and kicking the everloving shit out of it in a jumping round-house. "FUCK 'EM UP, EIGHT! YEAAAAAH! GET DUNKED ON, BITCHES!"

The popcorn tub sailed through the air and smacked a security squid in the back of the head, prompting him to turn around and glare up at her. Shit. Well, this was awkward. Not really knowing what else to do, Three flipped him off with both hands.

She met up with Four and Eight outside, ten minutes later, after being escorted out of the stadium.

* * *

Four was sitting at a table in the Square, enjoying some nice, refreshing ice cream with Eight and Three, who were holding hands under the table and thinking they were being sneaky about it, which they weren't. Losers.

"Tell you what, Eight," Four said, taking a lick out of her delicious rocky road ice cream. "I sure am glad we've got you now instead of Ricky."

"Who's Ricky?" Three asked.

"The teammate I replaced," Eight explained. "Never met him, actually."

"Ricky Danalov. We were friends in high school. He was kind of a jerk, but it took me a while to realize that."

"Wait." Three froze. "Danalov?"

"Yeah," Four said. "Do you know him?"

"I know his brother," Three mumbled. "From work."

"You're kidding," Four said.

"I wish. His brother's an even bigger jerk, just so you know."

Eight giggled into her hand, looking up at Three. "Hold on, do you mean Danny?"

"Unfortunately." Three slumped against the table and licked at her ice cream.

"Woah, woah, wait up," Four said, putting up a hand. "This guy's name is _Danny Danalov?"_

"Yup," Three said, in a voice that sounded like she wanted to die. "And that's the least stupid thing about him."

"Huh," Four said. "And he also gives tours at the, uh… Darn, what was it again? The…" Four waited expectantly, but Three only looked at her flatly.

"That's not going to work, asshole."

"Yeah, yeah," Four said, rolling her eyes and once more digging into her ice cream.

"Um… excuse me? Eight, right?"

All three of them turned to the new voice; to Four's surprise, it was an Octoling. He looked to be about seventeen, if Four had to guess, and he was nervously staring at Eight. Four noticed that Three had unwound her hand from Eight's, and had moved ever-so-slightly in her chair so that she would be able to jump up at a moment's notice.

Four doubted it would come to that.

"Uh, yes, hi," Eight said. "Do I know you?"

"Oh, no, not really," he said. "My name's Marcus, and I watched your tournament just now. You were amazing!"

"Oh." Eight blinked. "Thanks."

"Yeah, I don't know, it's just—" He let out a breath. "How do I say this, uh… it's nice to see someone who's more, uh, personally relatable, I guess, playing out on the big stage, you know? I really like turf wars, and it makes me feel like less of an outsider, I guess, and I wanted to thank you…?"

Eight stared at him for a second in silence, and then took a bite out of her ice cream. (A bite. An actual _bite._ This had to be Pearl's fault.) "I'm not sure I know what you mean," she said finally.

"He's talking about the fact that you're an Octoling," Three said.

Marcus jumped. "That's—I don't—"

"Oh!" Eight smiled. "I hadn't noticed!"

Four and Three exchanged a look, but Eight remained oblivious.

"Nice to meet you, Marcus! I'm Eight! I don't know any other Octolings besides Marina. This is exciting!"

But Marcus didn't seem to hear her, and was instead staring at Three. "How do you know about—wait, are—" He stopped dead and turned chalk-white. "Oh my god, you're Agent 3. You look just like the wanted posters. Oh, _nyuze-jaskenei,_ I am so dead, oh my god, please don't kill me! I swear I don't taste good!"

Four frowned. How come she didn't have any wanted posters? They must've not been printed by the time he escaped or something.

"Dude, chill, I—" Three looked vaguely disgusted. "They told you guys I _eat_ Octolings? Ew, no! Anyway, you guys were mind controlled. No hard feelings."

"Also, like, they're dating," Four said, wagging a finger between the two of them. "So you _know_ she likes some Octoling."

Three gave her an impossibly tired glare.

"Really?" Marcus raised an eyebrow. "How does that… work?"

"Socially or anatomically?" Eight asked.

"Okay!" Three said, her face flushing orange. "Well, nice to meet you and all, but we've gotta get going, I think—"

"Wait, one sec, Three," Eight said, reaching out and grabbing her girlfriend by the arm. Amazingly, Three shut up and stopped. Four was jealous; she could _never_ get Three to shut up, or to stop! God, she didn't know dating had so many benefits that she was missing out on. (Eh, still probably not worth it, though. Kissing was _disgusting.)_

"Marcus, did you…" Eight awkwardly brushed a tentacle behind one ear. "Did you know me at all? Back underground?"

"Uh, no, you don't look familiar. What was your assignment number?"

"02-A," Eight said.

Wait, what? Four turned to Three, who just mouthed, 'later.'

"I'm assuming that's front-ops, right?" Marcus asked.

"Yes," Three confirmed. "F-02-A."

"Damn. Well, yeah, then we _definitely_ wouldn't have seen each other," Marcus said. "I was S-07-C. A low ranking sci-ops would have no reason to meet with the second squad leader. Why, do you recognize me?"

"Uh, no," Eight said. "Sorry. Nevermind. Uh, nice meeting you, though!"

"Yeah, you too," Marcus said before walking off.

Four immediately turned to Three. "What was that all about? How do you know her… ranking, or whatever?"

"I talked with DJ Octavio last month, and he kept calling me '02-A,'" Eight said.

"Before you joined the Splatoon, right when Off the Hook was just getting popular, we took Marina in for questioning," Three explained. "She gave us a lot of information about how the Octarians run things. Each Octoling is part of a division, like front-ops, a squad, like squad two, and then they have a ranking within that squad, which is a letter. So Eight's code is 'F-02-A,' based on the assumption that she was front-ops and the info Octavio gave us."

"Wait. Octavio knew Eight? Can't he tell you about your past and stuff?"

"I… tried that already," Eight said. "I don't… he said…"

"We can't trust what he said," Three shot out, interrupting Eight. "He's the furthest thing from a reliable source I can think of."

Okay, so, touchy subject. Got it. Time for a diversion. "…Hey Eight, you want seconds?"

Eight looked at Four, looked at her ice cream, looked back at Four, and shoved the remainder of her ice cream in her mouth all at once. "Yes."

* * *

Marcus lived in a run-down apartment complex way out on the fringes of the city. He didn't typically like to walk home after dark, but the tournament was in the evening, and he didn't like trains, so… here he was. His sneakers felt frighteningly loud on the concrete as he left the pretty parts of the city and moved into the less-cared-for part he had the honor of calling home.

_Thud._

It had come from behind him. He spun around to see a form lying on the pavement that hadn't been there before. Had it fallen? He looked up reflexively, only to see the dilapidated high-rises looming above. Had whoever this was… jumped? He looked down at the prone body. Oh, he was going to be sick.

And then it moved.

Marcus yelped as the body jolted upwards and rushed towards him. Within a second, he felt the barrel of an octoshot pressed up against his chest, and found himself staring into the opaque lenses of octo-goggles.

"Don't move," the Octoling spoke, in carefully articulated Octarian. It wasn't a threat—just an order.

"Uh, yeah, wasn't—wasn't planning on it," Marcus choked out.

"Are you living with anyone?"

"No, just… just me." That was a lie. He had escaped with his friend Shianne, who should be sleeping in their apartment right about now. He hoped she didn't go looking for him or anything dumb like that.

"Come with me," the Octoling commanded. "Don't make any noise, and don't resist, or I will be forced to use violent—"

The Octoling got cut off as it exploded into teal ink, which Marcus only just managed to jump away from. He turned to see a hunchbacked old inkling with a puffy white beard standing off to the side, holding a modified bamboozler. He lowered it back down to the ground, and used it as a walking stick as he approached Marcus.

"Howdy there, kid! You alright?"

"Uh, yeah. Thanks." This day just kept getting weirder.

"Well, see you around! And maybe think about carrying a weapon with ya." He winked. "Oh, and one more thing." The inkling leaned in and lowered his voice. "If you ever need help, just give me a call."

"What?" Marcus asked.

But the old man just smiled, and pressed something into Marcus's hand before wandering off. Marcus squinted in the dark light at the presented object; was that a business card?

_**Craig Cuttlefish**_

_Inkopolis Military Captain_

_New Squidbeak Splatoon_

And then it had a phone number, an email, and… a message board handle?

Marcus shook his head and resumed his walk towards his apartment. He needed to go to bed.


	19. 7-1: Invitation Only

Four adjusted the trophies in her trophy case, trying to center them perfectly. Fresh Ink had been on a roll lately, and Four was actually running low on trophy space. It was a good problem to have, and a very fun problem to sarcastically complain to Three about, but it was still bothering her.

See, she had five trophies on the top shelf, but the two tallest ones were both the same height, which meant she couldn't put the tallest one in the middle. She could, hypothetically, put the tall ones on either end, but that would make a weird reverse-pyramid shape and she was _not_ about that.

A sudden knock at her door threatened to split her attention, so with a sigh, she left the trophies as they were. "Coming!" Four shouted, rushing over to her apartment door.

It was Pearl. She greeted Four with a finger gun, a 'sup,' and a magenta envelope that was shoved into Four's hands.

"What's this?" Four asked, grabbing the letter.

"It's a wedding invitation!" Pearl said. "'Cause I'm getting married!"

"Oh, right," Four said. "Cool!"

"Also, can I ask you a quick favor?"

"Sure."

"Would you be my maid of honor?"

"Wait, what?" Four asked, eyes wide. "I mean, I'm flattered, but I didn't expect to be your first choice."

Pearl shrugged. "I'm an only child, dude, and Marina already stole Eight."

"Well, what about Three then, right? Hasn't she gotten pretty close with you guys as your daughter-in-law or whatever?"

"Okay, one, don't call Three my daughter-in-law, that's fucking weird. Two, I did ask her, and she said she'd rather die than wear a dress that matches mine."

"Would I have to wear a dress that matches yours?" Four asked, raising an eyebrow.

Pearl scratched the back of her head. "It would be preferable, yeah."

"Alright, sure," Four relented. "I'm great at matching outfits anyway."

"Oh thank god," Pearl said. "Because I'm fucking awful at it."

"Don't worry, I got you," Four assured.

"Thanks," Pearl smiled. "Oh, actually, speaking of Three…" Pearl pulled out a second envelope and handed it to Four. "Could you give this to her? I have no idea where to find her."

Four raised an eyebrow. "Have you tried calling her?"

Pearl rolled her eyes. "We were all eating out together one time on a double date, and she saw me eat mayo straight from the packet, so she blocked my number. She still hasn't unblocked me, and it's been, like, a week."

Four made a face of pure disgust. "Pearl… what…"

"Don't judge me, okay! It's fucking good!" Pearl shouted, throwing out her hands. "Look, just… get the invitation to her, please?"

"Uh, yeah," Four said. "Sure thing."

* * *

Three threw open the doors to the museum in a huff and hurried over to the employee area. She leaned over the computer and entered her employee ID into the attendance tracker, her name popping up on the screen along with the time she'd clocked in.

"Good morning, Amy."

She tilted her head to see her boss, Carl, standing a few feet off, coffee in hand. Three _loved_ Carl. What a guy.

"Morning," she greeted.

"Say, can I talk to you for a second?"

Three nodded, moving away from the computer and leaning against the table. "Yeah. What's up?"

"So, one of our guests filed a complaint against you yesterday. I'm just checking in to see if you know what that's about?"

"Hmm."

* * *

Three gestured to the display in front of her. "So, as you can see, it's believed that with the proper thrust, it would be possible for such a ship to breach the planet's atmosphere and enter outer space. Unfortunately, this would take a massive amount of fuel, more than could be provided from zapfish, and the current environmental laws prevent scientists from using nonrenewable energy, because as I said earlier, any further agitation to the environment could cause sea levels to rise even further, endangering civilization as we know it.

"And on that note, that's the end of the tour. Any questions?"

One guy in the front raised his hand. Three nodded towards him.

"Are you single?" he asked. "'Cause I like a smart girl, you know."

"So do I," Three said without missing a beat. "Unfortunately, you don't fit either qualification."

"Ha! Got 'em!" said some kid, who was quickly shushed by his mother.

"Anyway," Three said with a roll of her eyes, "any _actual_ questions?"

* * *

"No idea," Three said.

Carl bobbed his head up and down and took a sip of his coffee. "Right, right. Nah, it's cool, it happens. Unfortunately, this is your third one this month, so I gotta, like, supervise one of your tours now to make sure everything's chill. Company policy, you feel?"

"Yes," Three said slowly. "I feel."

"Coolio."

He wandered off back towards the coffee machine, so Three just shrugged and left to go wait by the front desk. Hopefully whatever tour he ended up latching onto would be relatively tame.

* * *

When Pearl left, Four placed the envelope on her desk, pulled out her phone, and began scrolling through her contacts. But just before she hit 'Three,' she passed by 'Ricky,' and her mind began scheming subconsciously.

She should probably just call Three and keep it simple, but… a little google search wouldn't hurt, right?

She turned to her laptop, opened a new tab, and typed 'Danny Danalov' into the bar. It had been a while ago since that conversation they had had after the tournament, but Four made it a point not to forget what little information Three let slip about herself. Also, Danny Danalov was a hard name to forget.

She watched with bated breath as the page loaded. She probably wouldn't find anything useful, and—oh, wait, nope, there was his Squidstagram. She clicked, and couldn't help herself as her eyes drifted to a selfie he had taken, and the work uniform he had been wearing at the time.

"P. R. Hana Science Museum," Four said, her mouth turning up at the corners. "Found ya."

* * *

Three approached the tour group, Carl following behind her looking bored out of his mind. She couldn't blame him.

"Hello, and welcome to the P. R. Hana Science Museum. I'm Amy, and I'll be your tour guide today. Prepare yourselves for the technological marvels of modern day Inkopolis." Someone snickered towards the back of the group, but Three ignored it. For one, she agreed that the opening line was dumb as fuck, and also, her boss was literally standing right there. "Please just come right this way, and—"

Was.

Was that Four there in the back, giggling at her?

God damn it. Of all the fucking things.

Four winked. Three wanted to scream, and she probably would have had her boss not been standing right next to her.

"—and we'll begin our tour!" she finished, putting on her best customer service smile and swiveling around to walk towards the first exhibit. She managed to get through her spiel on the mechanics of ink molding and its applications on sub and special weapons without looking at Four, though she could feel the girl's eyes boring into hers.

"…And as this technology has developed over the years, we've been able to mold larger and more complex structures out of ink, such as the Ultra Stamp that came out earlier this year," she finished. "Does anyone have questions?"

Nobody raised their hand—except Four.

Three nearly pulled a muscle as she stretched her mouth into a smile. "Yes?"

"So, I dunno, I was just wondering, uh…" She paused to make a big deal out of leaning forwards to read Three's nametag. "I was just wondering, _Amy,_ why each weapon is limited to only one sub and special when the physical components necessary for the molding are small enough that many could fit on any given weapon."

"Ah. What a _great question,"_ Three said, her voice as fake as Four's curiousity. She already knew all this. "That's due to battle regulations, and is only a function of turf wars. Many military and modified weapons have the capacity to switch between multiple different subs, and use a variety of specials. But limiting standard regulation weapons to one sub and special apiece helps balance battles, and adds variety to the sport." And also allows Sheldon to sell five different versions of the splattershot instead of just one, but she didn't say that.

"Mmm, mmm, very interesting," Four said. "So, follow up question…"

Three ground her teeth together behind her plastered-on grin. This was going to be a long tour.

The end of the tour took its sweet time in arriving, partly due to the relativity of time, and partly due to Four asking so many goddamn questions. But eventually the last display had been explained, and then elaborated upon, and the group was dispersing.

"Cool," said Carl. "Yeah, you're fine. Bye."

Three waited until he turned the corner, then reached out and grabbed Four by the collar, pulling her down until they were staring eye-to-eye.

"Hey Three," Four said.

"Four," Three breathed, "I swear to god, if my boss had not been there, you would currently be embedded halfway into the electromagnetism display."

She laughed. "Look, I had to find you to give you this," she said, holding out a letter.

"And you couldn't have called?" Three snatched the letter out of her grasp, and began walking back towards the museum entrance.

"Well, this was much more fun," Four said. "You know, you make a surprisingly good tour guide."

"It _is_ my job," Three said. "But yeah, I guess. I find it all somewhat interesting, which helps make talking about it more bearable. Also the exhibits change more often than you'd think, so that keeps things new."

"Nerd."

"Shut up." Three looked at the letter. "What is this, anyway?"

"Wedding invitation," Four said. "Pearl said you blocked her number?"

"Oh yeah, I did. I should probably unblock her."

"Eh." Four made a so-so gesture with her hand. "I mean, she _did_ eat that mayo."

"You know what? You're right. One more week."

As they approached the museum's entrance, Four said, "Well, I should probably be heading soon. Don't want to keep any curious tourists waiting."

"Right. But one more thing before you go," Three said, grabbing Four by the shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"This 'follow me to work' thing was cute and all, but _please__,"_ she stressed, "don't call me by my real name. Okay?"

"What?" Four's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "I mean, sure but… why?"

Three pinched the bridge of her nose. "It's long, complicated and personal, okay? But I'd just appreciate it if you didn't."

Four frowned. "Hey, uh… Sorry if I shouldn't have come today. I didn't mean to breach your privacy or anything. Honestly, I kinda thought your whole cagey thing was, like, a really dedicated comedy schtick."

Three sighed. "Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn't. Again: it's complicated. But don't worry about it, you're fine. I'm getting more comfortable being open with my friends."

"That's good," Four said, then smirked. "Guess I'll have to thank Eight."

"Yeah," Three laughed. "You should."

* * *

**Two weeks later: One Day Until the Wedding**

"Okay, okay," Marina said, pacing back and forth in the middle of the living room. "Cake and flowers have been double checked, we sized the rings, we found the rings after you _lost_ them—"

"I said I was sorry," Pearl grumbled from the couch.

"We told Albacore how many chairs and tables we need… what about food?"

"The bakery's gonna deliver it to the venue tomorrow," Pearl said from the couch. "And, yes, I double checked."

"Right." Marina took a breath. "And Craig memorized his script?"

"I mean, I didn't quiz him on it, but I trust the guy."

"Alright." Marina stopped pacing and took a breath. "Alright. I think this might work out."

"Uh, yeah, duh," Pearl said. "It's gonna be the best wedding ever!"

"And you've prepared your vow?"

"I'm gonna wing it."

"Pearl!"

"Hey, I want to speak from the heart, not a piece of paper!" she protested.

"But what's wrong with _transcribing_ the words your heart gives you ahead of time?"

"Marina, you know my lyrics are always better when I make them up in the middle of a song, not when I write them down before hand. And I want these to be the best damn lyrics I ever say!"

Marina smiled. "Aw, Pearlie… Okay. I trust you. But don't mess it up, okay? We only get to do this once!"

Pearl shrugged. "If it goes poorly we can just get a divorce and try again, no biggie."

"True enough," Marina laughed. "But I'd prefer to get it right the first time."

"Me too," Pearl said. "And don't worry! I know this is important, but you've been suuuuuuper stressed over it. You need to let yourself enjoy it. We're getting married!"

Marina sighed, and sat down on the couch. "You're right. I just can't help myself! I want it to be perfect."

Pearl took Marina's hand in hers, and looked into her eyes. "Hey. No matter what happens, it'll be perfect. Because we'll be there together."

"Yeah," Marina agreed. "Together."

Their lips met for what must've been the thousandth time by now, but it was no less amazing. On the contrary, even; it seemed to be deeper every time.

* * *

DJ Octavio watched through the warped glass as the octocopter descended from the sky, coming to a rest just in front of him. "Report, sir," it warbled at him. "All missions to reclaim the defected Octolings remain unsuccessful. We suspect the Inkling forces are working with the traitors, and are keeping watch over the targets."

Octavio huffed. "Typical. I can't believe we've wasted so much time on this bullshit. Say, you said that S-01-A's dumb _wedding_ was dropping tomorrow, right?"

"That is correct, sir."

"Hmmph. Then maybe we should take a more direct approach." Octavio focused and shifted into his humanoid form, shattering the glass of the snowglobe as he grew to his proper 8-foot height. "About time we take things to _their_ turf, don't you think?"

The octocopter seemed nervous. "With all due respect, sir, are you sure this is the best course of action?"

Octavio punched the octocopter in the face. It flew backwards and smashed into a nearby rock, splatting all over it.

"Hey! What's going on over there!"

Octavio turned. A male Inkling in military garb was standing before him, carrying a splatbrella and looking very nervous.

"Under orders from Captain Cuttlefish, I am not to let you leave the premises!"

Octavio reached out, grabbed his brella, and snapped it in two. "I can't believe Craig trusted someone like _you_ to watch over me. Ha!"

The Inkling retreated back a step. "St—stop right there!"

"Listen here, squidbreath," Octavio said, grabbing the soldier by his neck and lifting him up to eye level. "If I hear that any alarm has been raised once I get out of here, I'll track your sorry ass down and mash you up so hard that next time you're not gonna respawn. Understand, punk?"

He nodded.

"Good." Octavio then hurled him off the edge of the cliffside, sending him tumbling towards the depths of Octo Canyon. He contemplated destroying the spawn point just to be sure, but he didn't think that would be necessary. That kind of threat usually did the trick.

He cracked his knuckles as he approached the grate that led to Inkopolis. Time to have some fun.


	20. 7-2: Setup and Punchline

Three let out a breath as the automatic doors to New Albacore Hotel slid open before her. The wedding wouldn't begin until two, which wasn't for another, like, four hours, but the others would start showing up to get everything set up at around nine, and Three wanted to make sure the venue was fan-free before they got here. According to Eight, Marina was super fucking stressed about the whole thing, so the last thing she needed was a bunch of teenagers begging for her autograph while she tried to get everything in order.

She looked down at her phone. "Let's see… ballroom 3." That seemed like far too many ballrooms for a single hotel, if Three were being perfectly candid, but what did she know? She was just security.

After briefly contemplating asking the clerk at the front desk for help and then googling the hotel's floor plan instead, Three found herself wandering up and down some big important hallway and scouring the plaques on each door.

"No… no… no… goddammit, it should be right here!"

"Oh, hey, are you looking for ballroom 3?"

Three turned to see some kid standing on the other side of the hall. He had on a pair of fake glasses, which was an unbelievably stupid fashion trend that Four had tried and failed to explain to her many times, and some weird… jacket… vest… _thing_ that looked absolutely atrocious, but was _also_ an unbelievably stupid fashion trend that Four had fruitlessly tried to justify to her once or twice, except more recently.

"Yes," Three said, miraculously refraining from insulting his clothes.

"Yeah, the online map is, like, super outdated. That's it over there." He pointed down the hall back the way Three had come, except on the other side. "Are you also here to meet Off the Hook?"

Three looked at him. Oh. Yeah, that checked out. "Not exactly," she said, walking towards the ballroom.

"Oh." The boy frowned. "Wait, then why are you here so early?"

"Because I'm security for the wedding."

He went as pale as Pearl. "O-oh."

"Yeah. So, tell me, were you invited to this incredibly private wedding?"

"Well, erm…"

"Mmhmm," Three said as she reached the ballroom doors. "Maybe you should leave, then."

He ran off, and Three rolled her eyes. This was going to be a long day if fans were showing up this early. This is what happened when you gave live updates on your wedding planning on Squidstagram. Like, she knew that Off the Hook liked to be public on social media, but seriously?

Three pulled out her splattershot and leaned back against the ballroom doors, but as she put pressure one of them, it creaked open.

They.

They weren't locked.

Why weren't the doors locked.

"Oh, fuck this," Three said once she looked into the room. All over the ground, there were collapsible tents set up, and Three could see people of all different ages and species lounging around, most of them decked out in Off the Hook merch.

Three walked into the center of the ballroom, cupped her hands around her mouth, and shouted. "HEY! LOSERS! THIS IS A PRIVATE WEDDING!"

"Woah, step off, bro," said a crab who was poking his head out of a red, crab-shaped tent. "We're just chillin' here waiting for our favorite band, yo. Ain't nothing wrong with that."

"Yeah! Why should we listen to you?" called some Inkling woman a few tents over.

Three raised her splattershot. "Because I'm head of security for the wedding and also because I'm armed."

"What are you gonna do?" asked a crayfish. "Shoot us?"

"Yes," Three said, then began firing her splattershot around erratically, making sure she didn't actually hit anyone. "Leave! LEEEEAVE!"

"Jeez, okay, okay!" the crayfish said. "Just let me pack up my tent."

Three groaned. This was a nightmare.

* * *

As they entered the hotel lobby, Pearl and Marina were almost bowled over by a group of jellies rushing out the doors.

"Well sheesh," Pearl said, glaring over her shoulder at them. "Someone's in a hurry."

Then a burst bomb flew past her face and slammed against the ground, right at the heels of the jellies. "And _stay_ out!" Three yelled, waving her splattershot at them as they fled. Then she noticed Pearl and Marina standing there and looking at her funny. "Oh, hey."

"Three?" Marina asked. "What are you doing?"

"Securing," she explained. "Your fans are really annoying."

Marina pursed her lips. "Well, I wouldn't say _annoy—"_

"Oh my god tell me about it," Pearl said, rolling her eyes. "Fucking greatest and worst thing to ever happen to me."

"Okay, well, yes," Marina said with a sigh. "They can be a bit dedicated, but—"

"They were camping out in the ballroom."

"They can be a bit _obsessed,"_ Marina amended, "but they're honestly quite sweet. We don't have as widespread a fanbase as the Squid Sisters do or anything, but the fans we do have are very loyal."

"Well, despite their unending loyalty, I managed to clear them out for you," Three said, walking them out of the lobby and down a few winding hallways. "So you should be good to start setting things up."

"Nice," Pearl said. "Hey, uh, thanks, Three. For helping out and shit."

"Yes, it was very kind of you to offer," Marina said. "We could've just gotten our normal security guys, but it'll be nice to keep things within our little circle before the wedding starts for real."

"Plus you're really good at scaring people away, apparently," Pearl said.

"It's one of my passions." They had reached the ballroom by now, and Three paused at the doors. "Welp. See you later. Call me if you need me to, like, lift a table or something, I don't know. Or if some shithead sneaks in through the air ducts."

"It's funny you think that's a joke," Marina said, rolling her eyes.

"Wait, what?"

"Don't worry about it!" Pearl said. "We'll get you if we need you. Thanks again!"

* * *

Captain Cuttlefish and the Squid Sisters were the next to arrive, and they were already dressed in their fancy formal attire: Callie and Marie had on matching blue/green dresses, and the Captain was sporting an awful lime tux that was sure to give Four an aneurysm once she arrived.

"Hey gramps," Three greeted.

"Howdy, Agent 3!" Cuttlefish said, clamping a hand down on Three's shoulder. She shrugged it off. "Things going well with you?"

"Yeah, sure," Three said. "Hey, are there any updates on that whole 'attempted kidnappings' thing?"

He shook his head. "I told you, Three, I was only asked to help that one week. It's not under our agency's jurisdiction."

"You've still been sneaking looks at the report files, though, right?"

"Well, yes," he chuckled. "There haven't been any recently, to answer your question."

"We just got back from recon, actually," Marie droned, pulling the head of a charger up the back of her dress to demonstrate, then pushing it back down. "The Domes seem very loosely defended right now, which might mean troops are being organized elsewhere."

"No clue where, though," Callie said with a shrug. "We're thinking we might try to see if Octavio knows anything once we all get back to the cabin. Plus, the less time we leave Lieutenant Gill on watch duty, the better."

"Okay whatever," Three said. "More importantly, are you guys seriously hiding your weapons in your fucking dresses?"

"Where else should we hide them?" Marie asked. "It's not like anybody will notice. We've done it on stage before; we're very good at it."

"It's weird."

"You're weird," Callie said.

"Please stop fighting," Captain Cuttlefish said.

Callie rolled her eyes. "Fine. But only for you, Gramps."

"Oh my god!" shouted a young Inkling a ways down the hall. Three took note of her Off the Hook t-shirt and groaned. "You're the Squid Sisters! Wow!"

"Fuck," Marie declared.

"Get inside," Three said despondently, opening the door with her heel. "I'll handle it."

"Thanks, Three," Callie said.

"We won't forget your sacrifice," Marie added.

"Yeah, yeah."

* * *

"Oh, hey," Three said as a pair of Inklings walked up to the ballroom door. "Charger, Slosher; how's it—wait." She frowned. "Were you guys even invited?"

"Meagan and Leo," Slosher said. Three didn't know why she still tried correcting her.

"We're with Eight and Lynn," Charger clarified. "They had to come here straight from one of our practices, and Lynn asked if we wanted to tag along. So we did."

"Huh. Where are Eight and Four, then?"

"They'll be here in just a second. More importantly, what are you even doing here, Three?" Slosher asked. "If that even is your real name."

"I'm working security. And I said that you get to _ask_ me a question when you splat me during training—I never said anything about answering honestly."

"I kind of figured that was the case when you said that your social security number was 69," Charger said.

Three rolled her eyes. "That one was Slosher's fault for asking such a dumb question."

"It was the most personal question I could think of!" she defended.

"Wait, shut up," Three said, putting out a hand. "Here come the people that were actually invited, and aren't just abusing their friendship with the maids of honor to sneak in."

"Um, Lynn offered," Charger mumbled. Three ignored him.

"Hey guys!" Eight said, running down the hall. Four was right at her side, and both of them were lugging around all of Fresh Ink's weapons and ink tanks. Eight quickly shoved her load into Four's arms, though, and ran up to Three. They wrapped their arms around each other, and closed in to share a kiss.

"Hey Eight," Three said once they parted.

"Sorry, I'm all sweaty from practice," Eight giggled.

Three smiled. "It'll take more than that to stop me."

"Ugh, get a room," Four said, shaking her head. "I wouldn't have wingmanned you two so hard if I knew you'd be this disgusting."

Meagan and Leo, on the other hand, were staring. "You two are _dating?!"_ Meagan exclaimed.

Eight turned. "You didn't know?"

"No!" Leo said. "What? I'm—I'm so confused."

"I don't see what the big deal is," Three said.

Meagan fumbled. "But Eight's so nice!"

"Three's nice," Eight argued.

"Yeah, Slosher," Three teased. "I'm nice."

"You know what? Whatever," Meagan said, throwing her hands in the air. "Can we go inside now?"

"Yeah," Four said. "Pearl and Marina could probably use the help. And remember: be chill."

* * *

"Oh my god look! Meg! It's Off the Hook!" Leo whispered excitedly, elbowing Meagan in the side.

"And that's the Squid Sisters over there!" Meagan exclaimed. "Lynn, you didn't say anything about _them!"_

"Oh yeah," Four said, rubbing the back of her head. "I kind of forget that they're celebrities sometimes. Yeah, I'm friends with them too."

"Lynn what the _fuck,"_ Meagan hissed.

"Guys, I said be chill!" Four insisted. She hoped neither of them would ask for an autograph or anything. That'd be _so_ embarrassing.

"Oh, great! You guys are here!" Pearl greeted, walking over to them and setting down a box by a stack of other boxes. "Could you set up some tables against the wall and put these pastries on them? Make them look all fancy and shit."

"Sure," Eight said.

"Oh, hey, you guys are Four's teammates, right?" Pearl asked.

"I, um, yeah," Leo stammered.

Meagan proved to be much more articulate. "Hi! I'm Meagan, and this is Leo."

"Dope," Pearl said. "Well, see ya."

Once she had wandered off, Meagan and Leo turned to each other and broke into wild grins. "Oh my god she spoke to us!" Leo cried.

"I _know,_ right?!" Meagan said. "Do you think I could sneak a selfie without them noticing?"

"You could just ask," Eight suggested.

"Oh, not a chance," Meagan said quickly.

"Way too much anxiety," Leo said.

"ARRRGH!" someone screamed from over by the stage. _"JASK_ NEW ALBACORE!"

Four watched as Marina looked out over the sea of folding chairs and just about ripped her tentacles out.

Pearl sighed. "What is it this time, babe?" she called.

"There aren't enough _CHAIRS!"_ Marina screeched. "Were, like, ten short! Those cheap whores!"

"Woah there," Four mumbled.

"She's just stressed," Eight assured.

"I think I saw some down that back hallway when I was picking up the pastries," Pearl said, pointing towards a discreet door at the back of the ballroom. "I can go get some if you want."

"NO! I need you here," Marina said. "Who's not important?" Her eyes scanned the room, finally settling on their group. "You two! Go get chairs!" she commanded, pointing two threatening fingers at Meagan and Leo.

"Er, yes ma'am," Meagan said, grabbing Leo by the wrist and power walking over to the door.

"Uh, how many do you need?" Leo asked as he was dragged along.

"As many as you can carry!" Marina demanded. "And you two! Four, Eight! I'm not seeing any pastries on that table, young ladies!"

"On it!" Four called, rushing over to the boxes. "Man. I forgot how scary she can get."

Eight laughed. "You'll get used to it."

* * *

"Okay, what the fuck is this?" Three asked, looking up and down at the figure before her. It was tall—more than a couple feet taller than her—and wearing a trench coat, hat, and sunglasses. "Did you really think this would work? You're clearly just a bunch of kids who thought they could sneak in and see their favorite band. Well, sorry, but if you weren't invited, I can't let you—"

Suddenly, The figure moved, and Three found a fist adorned with shiny brass knuckles coming straight at her face.


	21. 7-3: Wedding Crashers

"Shit!" Three spat, raising her arms in a block just in time to catch the punch. It slammed into her forearms, and the brass knuckles dug into her skin; that was gonna leave a mark. The sheer force of the punch drove her back a few yards, the soles of her boots screaming against the tile. As she lowered her guard, she noticed that there was a trail of purple ink along the ground extending out from his punch, and she could feel it sizzling on the back of her arms where he'd connected, too. Were those brass knuckles an ink weapon? Who the hell was this guy?

She grabbed for her shooter, but the trenchcoated figure kicked at her ribs, and Three was forced to retreat into her squid form. The leg cut through the air above her head, and Three flopped away from a follow-up grab, rolling in between the asshole's legs. She came up in her humanoid form behind him, grabbed her hero shot, and whipped it against the side of dude's head with a _crack._

"Little twerp!" the man grumbled as he stumbled to the side, his hat falling off. Three began firing on him, but despite her ink soaking through the coat, he seemed completely unfazed. He turned around to face her and struck out with a straight left punch, again spraying ink everywhere; Three swiveled and let it glide past her chest, then reached out, grabbed his arm at the elbow, and yanked him towards her. With her body parallel to his arm, she lifted her right elbow to meet his oncoming chin.

"_Nyuze!"_ he spat as his head snapped upwards, but he recovered quickly—too quickly. Before Three could dodge out of the way, he sprang forward and tackled her, taking them both to the ground. They rolled and struggled for a while, but his sheer size and weight proved to be too much for Three to kick off, and before she knew it, he had her pinned to the ground.

Three could finally get a good look at him now that he was looming over her. He was an Octoling, first of all, but bigger than any others she'd ever seen. He had his long tentacles pulled back into a ponytail at his neck, and they trailed down past his shoulder blades. The dark skin of his face was marred by several pale scars—he'd definitely seen a lot of battles.

Three could also see a bright hawaiian shirt showing from beneath his trench coat, which was gaudy as all hell. And to make matters so, so much worse, his sunglasses had fallen off at some point during the fight to reveal a pair of orange shutter shades underneath. God damn, this dude needed a serious fashion intervention.

"Nice to finally see you again, Agent 3," he said, his voice low and threatening.

"Sorry, do I know you?" Three asked.

He gave her an indignant frown. "You—I—seriously? I'm DJ Octavio, you worthless little hipster!"

Oh. Oh, shit. Well that wasn't good. "Huh. Explains your horrible fashion sense, I suppose. What happened to that weird disco ball you like piloting so much?"

"I don't need the Octobot King to beat you chucklefucks," Octavio hissed. "Also it's still broken from last time. But that's not important! All that matters is that I can take my revenge on you and your friends!"

"Wait, hold up. Don't generalize. I'm pretty sure that includes Four, and she is an acquaintance at best."

Three was kind of panicking; she hoped it didn't show through her voice. Gramps had told her long ago about how formidable Octavio had been back in the war, and Octolings apparently aged much more gracefully than Inklings. The Octobot King, while powerful, may have only been holding him back before; judging by how brief their fight had been just now, Three would've had a hard time against him in this form even if he hadn't caught her by surprise. Hopefully, though, if she could keep him talking, she could find a way to get out of this and warn the others.

"I'm done talking with you," Octavio said, grabbing her by the neck.

Well, fuck.

He lifted her up into the air, wound back his arm, and flung her full-force into the wall. Three heard the crash of the wood and plaster giving out, and everything went dark.

* * *

"So, what does a maid of honor do, exactly? During the actual ceremony, I mean." Eight asked. She and Four were standing at the refreshments table, 'getting things ready' and totally not just eating lots of pastries.

"I mean, to be completely straight with you," Four said in between mouthfuls of chocolate croissant, "I have no clue. This is my first wedding."

"Me too," Eight said.

Four shrugged. "I think we're just supposed to, like. Look pretty. Emotionally support Pearl and Marina. That sort of thing."

Eight looked over to where Pearl and Marina were talking with Captain Cuttlefish. Pearl said something, causing Marina to nearly double over in laughter, grabbing onto Pearl's shoulder for stability.

"They don't look like they need support," Eight said.

"Mmhmm. And that's why I don't feel guilty about standing here and pigging out on baked goods."

Well, that made sense to Eight. She reached out to grab a chocolate chip and blueberry muffin, but paused when she heard a loud _thump_ come from over by the door. "Four, did you hear that?"

"Yeah," Four said, frowning. "It was probably just Three dealing with a rowdy fan or something."

"Probably," Eight agreed. She couldn't help but look over to the table where she and the rest of Fresh Ink had dropped off their weapons and tanks from practice.

And then Three came flying through the wall with a deafening _crash,_ hitting the ground and crumpling on a pile of splinters and plaster.

"Oh my god!" Four shouted.

"Three?" Eight called, running over. "Three?! Three!" She kneeled down and shook her girlfriend back and forth, but she wasn't getting up. She was still breathing, but Eight kind of wished she'd been killed; she likely would've been able to run back here from the public spawns in less time than it would take her to regain consciousness.

Eight looked up, and saw a tall Octoling staring at her through the hole in the wall, shrugging off a trenchcoat. "Who are you?" she demanded, stumbling back onto her feet.

The Octoling hung the trenchcoat on one of the shattered pieces of wall, and then calmly walked off to the side to enter through the door, ducking a little so his head would clear it. Eight wondered why he didn't just use the hole. He'd gone through all the trouble of making it, after all.

"Don't you remember what I look like in this form?" he asked. "Oh, wait, you don't remember anything, right? Sorry, that's my bad."

"Eight! Catch!"

Eight turned around to see Four standing at the table with all their weapons. She lobbed Eight's ink tank and splattershot over to her, and Eight caught them, slinging on the tank and holding the splattershot at the ready. "I remember how to fight."

He gave a sharp laugh. "We'll see."

"DJ Octavio?!" Marina called out from behind them.

Octavio turned his head. "Oh, wassup, S-01-A. I heard you were the first one to defect. Congrats. You know, it's sad that you're wasting that mind of yours on such trashy beats."

"Hey!" Pearl shouted.

"How'd he get out of his snowglobe?" Callie called. She was suddenly holding her roller, and Marie had her charger. Where they'd been hiding those, Eight had no idea.

"Uh, them, probably," Marie said, pointing towards the horde of Octarians pouring into the venue.

"Alright, everyone!" Octavio shouted. "Time to bring the beat down on these chumps! Grab Agent 3; I want her tied and outta here before she wakes up!"

"Try it," Eight hissed. She bared her beak, narrowed her eyes, and leapt forward at the DJ.

* * *

"Eight!" Marina shouted. She, Captain Cuttlefish, and Pearl were back by the altar discussing the ceremony, so all she could do was watch as Octavio and Eight began to battle it out.

"Dammit!" Pearl said. "On our wedding day? Really? This guy has _no _manners."

Marina let out a low growl. "Oh, he's lucky I wasn't front-ops, or I'd rip him a new _didizatse._ How the hell are we going to fix that hole before the wedding starts? I swear on my life, if he so much as breaks a _table_—"

"Marina, we might have bigger things to worry about right now," Pearl said.

"Drat," Captain Cuttlefish said, eyes glancing around at the incoming Octarians. "He's been sending in soldiers to capture rogue Octolings for a while now, but I never thought he'd attack us so forwardly like this."

"Wait, he has?" Marina asked. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Well, mostly because neither of you are actually in the Splatoon, so that would be a breach of confidentiality," he said, which, okay, fair. "But also because it's not our jurisdiction anyway. The NSS is a recon and infiltration force; our job is to invade the enemy. There's a different agency that deals with when the enemy invades us, and they were already on top of this case. The only reason I even know about it because they needed help one week when a couple of their agents were otherwise occupied. Besides, they were doing a fine job of it."

"Until now," Marina said.

He nodded. "Yep."

"Uh, guys?" Pearl said, gaining their attention. "Incoming!"

Marina turned and saw a small group of Octarian ground troops approaching them. The one in front was a twintacle octotrooper with a shield, and spoke to his squad mates in a high, grating Octarian. _"The Octoling and the old one are both on the capture list,"_ he said. _"Do whatever to the short one."_

"What are they saying?" Pearl asked Marina.

"They want to capture us, and kill you."

Pearl frowned. "Rude."

"Do you all have weapons on you?" asked the captain.

"No," Marina said.

"Of course not. It's our _wedding day," _said Pearl. "But I _can_ do _this!_ Cover your ears."

Marina slapped her claws to her ears. Cuttlefish gave her a confused look. "Do as she says. Trust me."

As he covered his ears, and the Octarians began to fire, Pearl reached up and cupped her hands around her mouth before letting out a thunderous, _"BOOYAH!" _at the very top of her lungs, right at the Octarians.

Even through her hands, Marina felt as if her eardrums were about to shatter. The Octarians, though, were clearly getting the worst of it, and after a couple seconds, they exploded into ink.

The captain shakily removed his hands from his ears. "As impressive as that was, Pearl," he said, "maybe next time you could spare an old man some ear pain and just let me take care of it, okay?"

Pearl blushed a little. "Uh, yeah. Sure thing."

* * *

Meagan walked back to the main hall, carrying a stack of chairs at her side. Leo was right behind her with his own stack, the metal clanking together as they loped down the hallway.

"I still can't wrap my head around this," Leo said. "Off the Hook _and _the Squid Sisters in _one place?_ With _us? _Our friends are never gonna believe it."

"That's why I'll be taking pictures," Meagan laughed.

Soon, they arrived at the door back to the ballroom. Meagan paused, shifting her weight to better open the doors, when she noticed the huge racket coming from the other side.

"What the hell are they doing in there?"

"It sounds like fighting," Leo said.

"Why the fuck would they be fighting?"

Leo shrugged. Megan sighed; well, only one way to find out.

She opened up the door, only to see a giant tentacle right on the other side.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAH!" she screamed.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!" Leo shouted.

Then the tentacle turned to face them. Literally 'face' them, because it had a face, which was horrible and awful and very, very weird. It also seemed to be manning some sort of splatling gun.

Meagan lost her grip on the chairs, and they clattered to the floor. "WHY DOES IT HAVE A FACE?!"

"WHY DOES IT HAVE A _GUN?!"_ Leo countered.

The… _thing_ narrowed its eyes at them, and the barrel of the splatling began rotating.

"Shit!" Meagan said, ducking and grabbing one of the chairs off the ground. "Get behind me!"

Leo quickly followed her instructions, and Meagan only barely managed to bring the chair up in time before the gun began firing. The two of them crouched down behind the chair as blast after blast of ink slammed into the metal.

"Shit shit shit!" Meagan said. "I can't hold it much longer!"

"It's a splatling," Leo said, speaking lowly and quickly. "We know how to deal with splatlings. Wait until it's done firing, then attack."

Meagan took a deep breath, straining to keep the chair in place. "Right, right. Get ready."

Leo nodded, grabbing onto one of his own chairs. As soon as she felt the pressure on the back of her chair lessen, she shouted, "Now!"

The two of them sprung forward and slammed their chairs into either side of the creature's face. His body squished together, sandwiched between their attacks, and exploded into ink.

"Yes!" Meagan exclaimed, high-fiving Leo. Then she looked out over the room; there were more of those things all over the place, fighting with all of the wedding-attendees. Lynn was actually fighting a few off only a few feet away.

"Lynn! What's going on?" Leo shouted.

Lynn turned, finishing off one of the tentacles with a few quick slaps. "Meg! Leo! Great, we could really use your help!" She rushed over and shoved their weapons and ink tanks into their hands.

"What the fuck are these things?" Meagan asked, strapping on her tank.

"Octarians," Lynn said. "Remember history class? The Great Turf War?"

"I thought they were wiped out," Leo said.

"Yeah, so, turns out, not really."

"Yeah no shit," Meagan said, looking around the room. "But why are they _here?"_

"Kind of a long story," Lynn said. "Short of it is, I'm a secret agent—"

Meagan's eyes widened. "You're a _what?"_

"—and so is Three, and Eight, and the Squid Sisters, and the old man over there—"

"Wait, the Squid Sisters are secret agents?" Leo asked.

"—and when the Octarians stole the Great Zapfish those two times that they did that—"

"That was the Octarians?" Meagan felt like she was having a stroke.

"—we had to go invade the Octarian base to get him back—"

Leo stared at Lynn. _"You_ saved the Great Zapfish?"

"Well, the second time, yeah, but anyway, doing that really ticked off DJ Octavio—he's the big one Eight's fighting—so I think he's getting revenge or something? I don't know, I'm actually kind of unclear on that part."

"Just on that part, huh?" Meagan said. "Because I'm kind of unclear on all of it."

"Look, I'll explain more thoroughly later," Lynn said. "That's kind of secondary to making sure we don't get captured."

"Understandable," Meagan said.

"Wait, this isn't, like, a 'now that you know we have to kill you' thing, is it?" Leo asked.

She laughed, then ran off.

"I… will be optimistic and assume she laughed because she thought I was joking, and not because she's dodging the question," Leo said.

"How about we contemplate all that shit," Meagan suggested, _"after_ we're not in immediate danger."

Leo nodded. "Sounds good."

* * *

Eight grimaced as she vaulted over a row of chairs, firing endlessly at DJ Octavio. It seemed as though no matter how much ink she tossed on him, he just didn't care. It would sizzle against his skin, then slough right off, leaving him no more injured than before.

"Ha!" he taunted. "This is too easy! Wow, I should've just fought your dumb agent friends like this all the time. That Octobot King really is a piece of junk!"

He threw out a straight punch, sending a shotgun blast of ink right at Eight. She twisted away, but he followed up with a left hook, sending a wave of ink that caught Eight right across the stomach. She felt her form destabilizing, but managed to jump backwards into her ink, taking a few precious seconds to resolidify. She swam around to the side and popped up, only to take a kick to the hip and be thrown like a bowling ball into the mass of folding chairs.

"Why are you _doing_ this?" Eight shouted, bouncing to her feet. She hurled one of the chairs at him and followed it up with a burst bomb.

"Because I hate you people!" he replied. He snatched the chair out of the air, and used it as a shield to block the burst bomb. "I kind of thought that was obvious."

Then he launched the chair back where it came from. She put out her arms in a guard, but the furniture still hurt as it crashed into her. But it didn't hurt nearly as much as the brass knuckles that followed, slamming into the back of the chair and flinging the both of them through the air. Eight barely managed to turn into an octopus to soften her landing before she plonked onto the floor, and then shifted back to her normal form to push up onto her knees. But before she could stand up, DJ Octavio's sneering face appeared above her. He reached down, grabbed her by the arm, and swung her over his head, slamming her back into the ground on the opposite side of him. He followed up with another kick that sent Eight rolling limb over limb across the tiles, coming to a rest yards away with her muscles screaming.

"Heh," Octavio laughed. "Get trashed."

Eight finally managed to get back onto her feet, but she felt bruised and battered all over. There was no way she was winning like this.

"There's no way you're winning like this," Octavio said. It sounded a lot more smug when he said it. "Just give up."

Eight glowered at him and raised her gun.

"Have it your way, then," he sneered. "Get ready for a beatdown, chump!"

* * *

Marie cringed as she watched Eight get kicked across the room. "This is bad," she said. "At this rate, Octavio's going to win."

"Ugh, that would be so embarrassing," Callie groaned from behind her. They were standing back-to-back, mowing down as many Octarians as they could. "Do you think we should bring out the trump card?"

"He didn't bring any Octolings, though," Marie said. "He must've been anticipating it."

"Breaking other forms of hypnosis is only half of what the Inkantation does," Callie said. "It should still help."

Marie took out an Octosniper, then rolled out of the way of an Octotrooper and fired a series of uncharged shots to take it out. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Three lying on the ground, still unconscious. Four was running circles around her with her brush and managing to keep her out of Octarian hands, but who knew how long she'd be able to keep it up.

"You're right," Marie said. "Let's do it. We need all the help we can get."

* * *

Pearl yelped and ducked down behind Captain Cuttlefish as an Octosniper's shot sailed past her ear. Cuttlefish was going ham on the bamboozler, and Four and her friends were doing an impressive job of controlling the crowd, but things still weren't looking too hot.

"Pearl! The mic!" Callie yelled. Pearl swiveled around. "Toss me the mic!"

Pearl looked down at the microphone that Cuttlefish would be using to officiate the wedding. "What? Why!?"

"Just do it!" Marie screeched, firing a charge blast into the crowd of Octarians.

Fucking… what the hell were they going to do with a microphone? If anybody should be doing anything with a microphone, it was her; she just wasn't sure if the building's architecture would hold up.

Hopefully, whatever they were planning would be worth it. She grabbed the microphone off the floor, wound back her arm, and hurled the thing at the Squid Sisters. "Heads up!"

Callie jumped up and caught it in one hand, even as she brought her roller down with the other, squashing a few octodivers. She and Marie backed up into a corner, and Callie held the mic up to their mouths as Marie kept on sniping. And then, they began to sing.

"_Ya! Weni! Marei! Mirekyara hire! Juri! Yu mirekerason!"_

"The Calamari Inkantation?" Pearl wondered aloud. Then she turned to Marina, who already looked entranced. "Marina? Hey, you there? Marina?"

Marina's face broke into a grin, and her tentacles took on a mind of their own, curling and thrashing about. "That heavenly melody…" she muttered. "Come on, Pearl! Let's do this!"

"We don't have weapons, remember?" Pearl said, exasperated.

"_Kire! Hyari! Yuriherahe nyurahera nunyera, unera, yurawera fimera ni!"_

Marina turned around, grabbed the wedding altar, and flung it into a group of octotroopers.

"Damn," Pearl muttered, staring shamelessly at Marina's show of athleticism. "In heels?"

"Can't you feel it?" Marina huffed. "Coursing through your veins?"

"Uhhhhh." She looked at her wrist. "Not really."

"Octolings are more naturally susceptible to hypnosis," Captain Cuttlefish explained from in front of them as he shot an octocopter out of the sky. "The rest of us inklings should feel it kick in by the chorus, I expect."

"Oh," Pearl said. "Wait, this is hypnosis?!"

The captain turned his head. "What did you think it was?"

"I just thought it was good music."

"Good enough to break mind control and enhance combat ability?" he asked incredulously.

"I mean, like, _really_ good."

"Oh, Pearlie," Marina said, shaking her head. Then she proceeded to beat an octotrooper over the head with a decorative candelabrum.


	22. 7-4: Rematch

"_Choperipo… shura shurafe nanyuruni, weni fafera hi," _Callie sung, her voice coming in through the speakers.

"I hate this song. Always steppin' on my rhythm," DJ Octavio grumbled. "Maybe once I'm done with you, I'll show those wannabe idols what real music sounds like. I bet the sound of me pounding their faces in would make a great beat!"

Eight, running short on breath, ink, and stamina, didn't bother replying; instead, she ducked under another one of his punches and continued to fire on him. As she felt the Inkantation flow through her, her shots which were previously barely noticeable to the giant Octoling were now sizzling with acidity.

"Dammit!" He cried out, ducking down into his ink and popping up just out of Eight's range. "I'm not gonna let this mainstream trash get the best of me again!"

Eight ran forward. Octavio clasped his hands together and brought them down onto the puddle he was standing in, causing a wave of magenta ink to fly out towards Eight. She managed to flip up one of the concession tables and duck behind it just in time, taking the opportunity to recharge her ink tank. She sighed as she thought of all those delicious baked goods that would be totally ruined now; she wouldn't forget their sacrifice.

"_Nanyuruni, weraniraharashurahe—nyurunirehara fe, fe, fe!" _

Once the last of Octavio's ink spilled over the top of the table, Eight rolled backwards onto the palms of her hands and kicked out, booting the table straight at the DJ. He planted his feet, wound back a fist, and threw out a punch in response. His brass knuckles cracked against the plastic and split the table in two, the halves flying past him harmlessly to either side. "Nice try, punk. You couldn't beat me before, and you won't be able to beat me again!"

"What do you mean, before?" Eight said, firing more ink at him.

He put his arms up in a guard and charged forward, crashing through Eight's ink and nearly bowling her over. She managed to roll away just in time, and he skidded to a stop, turning around to face her. "When I crushed your _stupid_ little rebellion! When I broke out of that accursed snow globe last year!"

"I thought you said I was always perfectly loyal," Eight said, furrowing her eyebrows. "Back when we talked."

"I say a lot of things," he barked. "Sorry if I can't keep my story straight."

"Wait, so what actually happened, then?" Eight asked.

"You rallied all the Octolings together and revolted against the Octarians is what happened!" he shouted, flexing his fingers before curling them back up into fists. "Once I got back, I put a stop to that shit real fast, but somehow you still got out alive. I'm here to fix that!" He snarled at her, his eyes manic, and leapt forward.

"_Ya! Weni! Marei…"_

* * *

"…_Mirekyara hire! Juri! Yu mirekerason!"_

Three groaned, her eyelids creaking open like a garage door that hadn't been used in years. Her body hurt all over, but she supposed that could be expected after getting thrown through a wall. But even as she thought that, the pain began to recede, drowned out by the familiar tune that flowed through her mind.

Shakily, she put an arm under herself, and pushed up, only to crumple back down. Alright. Rest a bit longer first. She could do that.

Then she felt something grab onto her leg. With a grunt, she lifted her head and saw a small, round Octarian with a hard hat dragging her towards the exit. "Hey! Stop!" she shouted, kicking at it with her free leg. The Octarian yelped in fright—it must've thought Three was still knocked out—and reflexively dropped a splat bomb right on top of Three's legs.

Well that wasn't good.

Three swore and tried to kick the bomb away, but it was just in the _worst_ possible spot, and she couldn't get an angle on it. She managed to sit up despite her protesting arms and abdomen, but she didn't have nearly enough time to get away before—

And then a streak of green swept clean over Three's body and slammed into the bomb, sending it rocketing into the air where it exploded harmlessly. Three took advantage of the opportunity to grab the stupid Octarian by its face. She rolled over onto her knees with it still in her fist, and then slammed it into the floor with enough force that it splatted under her hand.

"Thanks," Three said.

"No problem. I hate tentakooks," Four said, blocking a few oncoming shots of ink with the handle of her brush. "Little thieving jerks."

"They didn't have those back during my mission," Three said. "They don't seem very strong."

"No, but they sure are annoying," Four said. "Are you in good enough shape to fight?"

"Yes," Three said, in an effort to convince herself. She struggled onto her feet. "What's going on?"

"Uh, Leo, Meg, and I are dealing with the little guys, Cuttlefish is guarding Pearl and Marina who don't have weapons, and Eight's keeping Octavio busy."

Three's eyes widened.

"Oh, and Callie and Marie are doing their thing, but since I'm pretty sure that's the only reason you can stand right now, you probably figured that out."

"Wait, what about Eight?"

Four looked at her. "She's fighting Octavio, I already said that."

No, no, no, no—Three's eyes scouted around the room. She absentmindedly noticed where her hero shot had fallen, but even as she began making her way over to it, she couldn't look away from where Eight and DJ Octavio were fighting. He was running at her, fist raised back, and—

"_EIGHT!"_

* * *

"You don't make any damn _sense!"_ DJ Octavio yelled, smashing his fist into the spot where Eight had been standing a second before. Eight thought she'd heard someone shouting, but it was drowned out by the sound of Octavio's punch making a ink-covered crater in the floor. As he retracted his hand, bits of the tiling dribbled to the ground amongst waterfalls of dust.

Eight, having flung herself to the side in order to dodge, scrambled to her feet to resume shooting at him. She barely had any time to fire, however, before an Octobomber lobbed a splat bomb at her from the crowd of Octarians; Leo splatted it right afterwards, but the damage was done, and Eight was forced to move closer than she'd like to Octavio to avoid the blast.

"After your little rebellion failed, I took you back to HQ and remixed ya," Octavio said, slamming a boot into Eight's ribcage. She gasped in pain and slid backwards, teetering but managing to stay upright long enough to duck under a follow-up punch. She felt ink droplets rain onto her tentacles as Octavio's fist whooshed over her head. "Those hypnoshades pack some spice, even against Inklings. But on Octolings? We don't stand a chance. _You_ didn't stand a chance."

Eight rolled under his legs and jabbed her elbow backwards against the underside of his kneecap. His leg buckled and he fell to one knee, just in time for Eight to swivel around and deliver a roundhouse kick right to his lower back. "I think you should stop underestimating people."

"SHUT UP!" Octavio roared, swinging a hand around behind him and sending out a wave of magenta ink. Eight yelped and dove into her own ink, swimming back out to a safer distance. Octavio took the time to stand back up, turning around to face her once again. "I programmed those shades myself; I know 'em like I know my own tracks. The only thing that woulda been strong enough to break you out of their hypnotizing beat is that janky remix of the Inkantation the Squid Sisters put on when your annoying yellow friend stormed my base. But you were long gone by then!"

It was then that Eight noticed Three, who was making her way over to them from Octavio's blind spot. She didn't look like she was in the best shape at the moment, but Eight would take her help nonetheless. "Gone?" she asked, shooting at Octavio to keep his attention off of Three. "Gone where?"

"We'd heard reports of Agent 3 bustin' up a few bases out in Octo Ravine," he said, sending out rapid blasts of ink with a flurry of punches. The sheer volume of ink that he put out absorbed Eight's shots, and she was forced to give up even more ground. "So I sent you off to find her and bring her in. No matter which way that shook out, I'd have had one less problem to deal with. But somehow, I'm still stuck"—he swiveled on the spot and threw a right hook straight at Three, who had just come within striking distance—"with _both_ of you _jaskenei!"_

Three rolled to the side. "Well, so much for a surprise att—ack!" She was cut off as Octavio reached out and grabbed her by a tentacle. "Ow! Bitch!" she shouted, molding a burst bomb in her hand and spiking it right into Octavio's face.

"My eyes! I need those to DJ!" he cried, but he didn't let go of Three. Eight set her jaw and charged, covering his back with ink as she went. It sizzled against his skin, and he began to lose his form. With another curse, he slunk back into his ink, and Three immediately grabbed her tentacle with her free hand, stuffing it down the back of her hoodie. As she did the same for the other one, Eight couldn't help but snicker at how silly it looked.

"C'mon, Three, I thought you liked it when people pulled your tentacles."

From somewhere behind them, Eight heard Four bark out a laugh.

"Eight, please," Three said, her face flushed from a mixture of exhaustion and Eight's comment. "Not the time."

Octavio emerged a few feet away, and swung his arms in a big arc, clapping them together in front of him. A huge torrent of ink shot out, and Eight and Three were forced to jump to either side in order to dodge. Eight landed and began firing, and Three was flanking around Octavio, shooting as she went. Octavio slipped into his ink and popped out just as quickly, sweeping out low at Three's feet. Three jumped over the attack, but she apparently was still a bit beaten up from getting thrown through a wall, because her legs gave out from the force of her landing, and she fell hard on her shoulder.

"Three!" Eight called out.

"Worry about yourself," Octavio hissed, leaping towards her and throwing out a fist. Eight stepped into the attack and grabbed his arm, using his momentum to hurl him to the ground. But instead of collapsing to the floor, Octavio landed on the palms of his hands, and sprung back up, whipping Eight across the face with his foot as he did so. She coughed, staggering backwards, and felt a hand wrap around her neck. "You're an enigma, F-02-A, but a _strong_ enigma," he said, pulling her closer. "I have a feeling you'll be hella useful to me in the future."

Then Three jumped up, grabbed onto his shoulder, and punched him in the face. "Get"—punch—"your"—punch—"hands"—punch—"off of her!"

"Fine!" Octavio shouted once he managed to shake Three off of himself. His face was bruised and bloodied—Three could throw a mean fist—and his breathing was coming more heavily, but he was still standing strong. "Take her if you want her so much, you lovesick brat!"

He pulled back his arm, taking Eight with it. She watched out of her periphery as Three stood up and planted her feet. Three called out, "Change!" just as Octavio swung his arm forward, flinging Eight straight at Three with enough force to… well, to break through a wall, she supposed.

She changed into her octopus form as quickly as she could, the air ripping through her gills as she shot towards Three like a bullet. But just before she hit, Three leaned to the side and grabbed her by the tentacles.

"Hit him extra hard for me, okay?" she said. Then she began spinning along with Eight's momentum, the toe of her boot twirling against the slippery ink under her foot. After a couple of revolutions, Eight felt like her tentacles were about to be ripped off, but she managed to keep herself together until Three released her, sending her careening right back at DJ Octavio.

Eight was not sure she was the biggest fan of this strategy, but it was probably better than Three just dodging and having her crash into a table, so she was willing to go along with it.

She transformed back into her larger form and managed to put her arms up in an 'x' pattern in front of her face just before she slammed into Octavio's chest. Her arms hit him first, then her face crashed into her arms, and then the rest of her body followed through. He slid a few feet across the tiles, but he quickly pitched backwards, and they tumbled to the ground.

Eight, her body aching, rolled away from him and managed to get her feet back under her. A few feet away, Octavio was on his back, clutching his chest with one hand where Eight had collided with him. He coughed and flipped onto his stomach, then managed to push onto his hands and knees, finally putting one foot down on the floor and raising his torso into a kneeling position.

And then Three superjumped into his face, landing boots-first.

Octavio was again tossed away, this time bowling over a few Octarians that hadn't been smart enough to keep their distance. He slammed into the far wall, squashing his underlings between his body and the paint, and slumped, groaning in pain.

Three fell out of the dropkick onto her back, and let out a hiss as she clambered back to her feet. "Dammit. I was hoping to get him through the wall." She turned to Eight. "You okay?"

She nodded. She'd been better, though, that was for sure. "You?"

"I'll be fine after a good nap." Then she frowned. "Oh, you've got to be fucking with me right now."

"Hmm?" Eight followed her eyes, and saw that Octavio was getting back up. _"__M__ikero."_

"You… _slimy_ little hipsters," he growled. He was clutching one hand to his side, and another to his face as he limped towards them. "I'm not… leaving… without…"

And then he keeled over. He dropped face-first onto the ballroom floor, sending ink and dust flying up in clouds around him. It trickled back down to the ground as he lay there, his shallow breaths and the small spasms of activity from his tentacles the only movement once all the debris had settled.

"Oh sweet," Three said. "High five."

She held out her hand, and Eight slapped it. "Thanks, Three," Eight said. "I might not have been able to beat him on my own."

"Yeah no prob," she said, her voice hoarse. She sat down on the ground, then let her torso fall back so she was lying down. It was much more graceful than the way Octavio had done it. "I think the Inkantation's wearing off for me, because my entire body hurts, like, so much. Wake me when the wedding starts or whatever."

"Alright," Eight said, smiling down at her. "I love you."

"Love you too," Three mumbled absently as she shut her eyes.

* * *

Marcus flipped through the channels on the TV. He'd already cycled through them all by now, but, like, whatever, you know? It was just that kind of day.

"Hey, Marcus?"

He shut off the television and turned to his roommate, Shianne. She'd been in front-ops squad four, so they'd never really bumped into each other back in the domes, but they'd been rescued around the same time, and so it had been recommended that they share an apartment. They got along pretty well, though, so he didn't mind.

"Why do you have the business card of a captain of the Inkopolis military lying on your nightstand?"

Oh. "Uh, why were looking through my nightstand?"

"I couldn't find my claw filer, and after you _stole_ it last week, I think it's understandable—"

"Okay, fair," Marcus said. "Look, it's, like… so, you know that pro turfing game I went to because there was an Octoling playing?"

"…Yeah?"

"I kinda got ambushed by an Octoling soldier on the way back."

"You WHAT?!"

"But it's cool!" Marcus said quickly. "Some old Inkling guy splatted them before they could kidnap me. And then he gave me his business card."

"Marcus!" Shianne exclaimed, exasperated. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't want you to worry."

"We've got to tell Kayla."

"I already did," Marcus admitted. "She said she knew. She's working with the military, actually, and they've managed to prevent any of the kidnappings from being successful. Well, as far as the Octolings that Kayla has documented go, at least."

"Well, aside from, like, Marina, that's everybody, right?" Shianne said. "It's not like Octolings are just walking out the front door. How the hell would you dehypnotize yourself, anyway?"

Marcus frowned. "But, Eight's assignment number wasn't one of the ones on Kayla's list."

"Eight?"

"The Octoling at the tournament."

"Are you sure you're remembering her number correctly?" Shianne asked.

"Definitely," Marcus said with a nod. "F-02-A. Kinda hard to forget."

Shianne's jaw dropped. _"What."_

"What?" Marcus asked.

"And you're _sure?"_

"Yeah…? What's so special about the second squad leader?"

Shianne put a hand up to her head and sat down. "I guess you wouldn't know, being a low-ranked sci-ops and all, but she went _missing._ Poof. And this—this was _before_ Kayla started breaking us out. Before Agent 4's raid, even. Why is she here now?"

Marcus gulped. "We need to talk to Kayla."

"Big time," Shianne said, staring intensely at the dead TV, like she was searching its screen for answers.

Marcus just squeezed her shoulder before standing up and making his way to his room to put on his shoes.


	23. 7-5: Anyway, Now That That's Over

The Octarians turned tail and retreated not long after DJ Octavio's defeat; they'd lost the majority of their ranks already, and without their leader, they didn't really stand much of a shot.

"Yeah, that's right!" Pearl shouted after them. "Run away! Cowards!"

Callie and Marie stopped singing, and everybody lowered their weapons. Marina smiled in relief—and then the adrenaline wore off, and she was suddenly very aware of the state of the venue. Chairs and tables were toppled, pastries were smashed against the floor, there was a fucking _hole in the wall—_it was a mess.

"Our…" Marian gulped, and started to shake. "Our—our wed—our—"

Pearl cast her a worried look. "Uh, are you okay there, 'Rina?"

"_OUR WEDDDING!"_ Marina screeched. _"IT'S RUINED!"_

Everybody looked around awkwardly. Pearl let out a hiss. "Er, yeah, kinda."

"But that's not fair!" Marina protested. "We worked so hard! It was going to be perfect!"

"Nothing's perfect, Marina," Pearl said gently.

"NOT ANYMORE!" she yelled.

"Hey, could someone tell her to stop shouting?" Three grumbled from the floor. "I'm trying to sleep."

"We don't have _time_ to sleep!" Marina screamed. "We've got to fix this!"

"Uh, in an hour?" Callie said. "I mean, I think it's salvageable, but we might need to postpone it."

"Callie, there's a hole in the wall," Marie said. Callie elbowed her.

"_Yes,_ in an hour!" Marina insisted. "I am getting married _today,_ and there is no force on this _entire goddamn planet_ that's able to stop me. Callie! Microphone!"

Callie exchanged a glance with Marie, then began walking over to the stage.

"Throw it! Now!"

"Okay, okay!" Callie said, lobbing the mic over to Marina. She caught it expertly, then immediately began barking orders.

"Four's teammates that I forgot the names of! We broke two tables and seven chairs in the fight, go get replacements! Craig, you start setting up all the ones that got knocked over! Four, Eight, get DJ Octavio's body out of sight and then start cleaning! Callie and Marie, go raid every bakery in Inkopolis, we need more pastries! I'll, uh, pay you back. Pearl! Fix the wall!"

"What?!" Pearl exclaimed, looking at her like she was crazy.

Marina stared into her soul. She was _not_ crazy. "Do it."

Pearl hurried off.

"And Three! Don't think I don't see you slacking over there!"

Three raised her head and shot her a look so dirty it wasn't even fit for a dumpster. "Christ, Marina! I got thrown through a _wall!"_

"And I'll throw you through another if you don't get your ass off the ground," Marina hissed.

Three got her ass off the ground. "Okay, fine. What do you want?"

"You're with me," she said, throwing down the mic and hopping off the stage.

"Excuse me?"

"We're going to convince the hotel staff to help us, and I need your 'don't mess with me I'm a bad bitch' energy to do it."

"You don't have enough of that on your own?" Three asked wrly.

"Shut up."

"Hi, do you have a moment?" Marina asked sweetly. Three took one look at her eyes and shuddered.

"Of course," said the secretary Inkling seated behind the main desk. "What can I do for you, Miss Ida?"

"We need as many staff members as you have to help set up for the wedding in Ballroom 3."

"Stat," Three said.

The secretary typed for a moment on her computer, then frowned. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but that venue was already prepared for you all two hours ago."

"Well, we need it re-set up," Marina insisted.

"I'm not sure we have staff available to help with—"

"It'll only be for an hour," Marina said. "And I'll tip everyone who helps 70%. Including you!"

The secretary frowned. "I don't know…"

"Under the table," Three added.

"Well, I'm sure I can find some available workers," she said quickly, reaching for the phone on her desk as Marina fished out her wallet.

"Ugh, he's heavier than I expected," Four grunted.

"He _is_ eight feet tall," Eight said from in front of her, stopping briefly to adjust her grip. "You need to take a break?"

"No, I'm good." Four continued walking after Eight, trying her best not to look down at the unconscious face of DJ Octavio as they lugged him through the back area of the hotel. "How about that closet on the left?"

Eight turned her head. "Sure." They approached the closet, and then Eight wrapped one tentacle around the door handle, swinging it open. They crammed themselves inside the small space, then laid Octavio down on the ground.

Four let out a sigh of relief. "Whew. Just hope nobody comes into the closet until the wedding's over and we can move him somewhere else."

"I'm kind of surprised he didn't wake up."

"I mean, you and Three did a real number on him."

"I guess." Eight crossed her arms, looking down at the limp form of her former commander. "And you're sure those cuffs will hold him? Even if he changes forms and stuff?"

"Don't worry, we used the same kind on him after my mission," Four said. "They'll hold."

"Great." Eight reached down, grabbed an empty mop bucket, and flipped it upside-down on Octavio's face. "Alright. Let's head on back."

Pearl taped what must've been the fiftieth Off the Hook tour poster over the hole in the wall, then stepped back to look at her work. It was perfect! You couldn't see the hole at all!

"What… why…"

Pearl turned to see a group of New Albacore employees, lead at the helm by Three and Marina.

"Don't ask," said Three to the man who had spoken up.

"Good thing we had so many of those posters left over," Marina said. "Good job, Pearl."

"You know it!"

Marina turned back to face the crowd. "Alright, people! The wedding starts in forty minutes, and we need this place looking immaculate before it does! Three, you're on door duty again; don't let anyone see inside until you've gotten the all-clear."

"Got it," Three said, before walking up the wall and slouching down, closing her eyes. "I'll be right here."

"Come on, Pearl," Marina said, rushing into the ballroom. "We need to get ready!"

Callie kicked open the door to Jacqueline Jill's Bakery. "GIVE ME ALL OF YOUR CROISSANTS!"

"Callie, stop saying that," Marie drolled, walking in after her. "Sheesh." She strolled up to the register and dropped a pile of coins onto the counter, staring at the befuddled cashier with dead eyes. "We need _way_ more than just their croissants."

"We can't go in yet?"

"Nope."

"So, what, we're just supposed to stand here?"

"Yep."

"Uh! Unbelievable! This is my _daughter's_ wedding, and I am supposed to _dawdle_ out here in the corridor like a stranger?_"_

"Well if you prefer, you could continue to dawdle out here like a pretentious little—"

Four popped her head out of the door. "Three, we're good."

"Oh." Three turned back to Ms. Houzuki. "Please, step inside."

Pearl's mom shot her a nasty look, but didn't say anything further and she and her husband slipped into the venue.

As the minutes ticked closer and closer to the scheduled start time of the wedding, more guests started to arrive, and Three had to go through the arduous process of making sure they were actually invited.

"Name?" she droned.

"Naomi Charles."

Three searched down the list for her name, then paused. "Wait. Like, the same Naomi that Pearl cussed out on stage during her proposal?"

Naomi sighed. "Yes. That Naomi."

"Nice," Three said. "Yeah, you can go in."

Naomi left, and was replaced by—oh fuck no.

"What the hell are you doing here, Danny?"

"What the hell are _you_ doing here, Amy?"

"I'm running security."

"For Off the Hook?"

"Yes. And you were _not_ invited."

"Aw, come on," Danny said, waggling his eyebrows. They looked like poisonous caterpillars, and Three wanted more than anything to stomp right on top of them. "Can't you do a favor for a friend?"

"Get out," Three said, pointing away. "I have a job to do."

He didn't get out, much to Three's endless frustration. "I can't believe you know _Off the Hook._ Your girlfriend's got connections!"

"I'm about to give your tendons a few _less _connections if you don't leave."

"Wait just hear me out, okay? I—"

He was cut off as Marie's head poked out of the door. "Hey, Three, it looks like most of the guests have arrived so—oh, who's this asshole?"

"Danny."

Marie narrowed her eyes. "Ohhhh. _You're_ Danny?"

Danny looked between Three and Marie. "You—but—the Squid Sisters—"

"Looks like I gotta go," Three said jabbing a thumb over her shoulder. "See you at work."

Marie made the 'I'm watching you' gesture with her fingers, then slowly closed the door behind them.

"What the fuck?" Danny asked the air.

Marcus stood before Kayla's apartment door, his boots sinking into the carpet that lined the hall. He glanced at Shianne, who looked equal parts nervous and determined. She nodded her head at him, so he reached up a hand and rapped firmly on the door. Two knocks, a pause, three knocks.

After a few seconds, the door opened to reveal Kayla, who was wearing a dressing gown and had her tentacles up in a high bun. She motioned them inside, and only began talking once the door was firmly shut. "Marcus, Shianne. Nice to see you."

"You too," Shianne said.

"Forgive my informal attire; I wasn't expecting company." She led them over to a small sitting area, where she had a couch and a couple armchairs set up in front of a low table, on which sat a cup of tea. "Do you want any tea? It's still hot, and there's plenty left in the kitchen."

"Oh, no thank you," Shianne said. "We're coffee people."

Kayla laughed politely. "Of course."

"Were you just sitting in your dressing gown drinking tea by yourself before we came?" Marcus asked as he flopped onto the couch. "That's kinda depressing."

Shianne shot him an acidic glare, sitting down next to him. Kayla took a seat in one of the armchairs, breathed deeply, and sipped her tea. "So, anyway," she said, carefully returning her cup to the table and pointedly avoiding looking at Marcus, "what brings you?"

"Marcus has some important information that he didn't know was important information," Shianne said.

Kayla raised an eyebrow at him. "Is this related to your attempted kidnapping?"

"Sort of?" Marcus said. "So, right before that happened, I was at a turf war tournament, because one of the contestants was an Octoling, which I thought was pretty cool, you know?"

"Ah yes," Kayla said. "The enigmatic Eight."

"Wait, you know her?" Shianne asked.

"I'm aware of her existence, but that's the extent of it," Kayla said. "She does wear a mask, you know. And we've tried contacting Ms. Lothamer—or, Agent 4, if you prefer—but she's been unhelpful. I believe she thinks that we're fans or something similar, and me and my helpers have been unable to get her into a private enough setting to talk openly and convince her otherwise."

"Wait, Lynn Lothamer is Agent 4?"

Kayla raised her other eyebrow this time. "You… did not know?"

Shianne just shook her head in disbelief.

"Regardless," Kayla said, "any information you have on Eight would be much appreciated. If she's connected to the New Squidbeak Splatoon, she's likely safer than we are, but it would nonetheless be reassuring to know how she fits into everything."

"I managed to catch her after the game," Marcus said. "I just wanted to say that it was nice to see an Octoling getting involved in something I really like, you know? But then, uh, she asked me if I knew her. I didn't recognize her, but I asked for her assignment number just in case."

"And it was…?" Kayla prompted

"F-02-A"

Kayla dropped her tea.

It shattered against the table, ceramic shards throwing themselves across the wood. The liquid pooled, then trickled down the side in little streams, discoloring the rug underneath. "Are you sure?"

Marcus pointed at the table. "Um, your tea—"

"Marcus, are you _sure?"_ Kayla repeated.

"Um, yeah, I'm sure."

"I'll go grab a towel," Shianne said softly, bouncing up and rushing towards the kitchen.

Kayla hardly seemed to notice her, her eyes laser-focused on Marcus. "What else did she tell you?"

"Nothing much, really. She was there with Agent 3 and Lynn—er, Agent 4, I guess. Uh… let's see, she's dating Agent 3."

"Wait, really?" Kayla said.

"Agent 3?" Shianne said, hurrying back and beginning to wipe up the spilled tea. "Like, _the_ Agent 3? That one?"

"There aren't really others, Shi. I thought it was strange too, but that's what they said."

"That's… huh." Kayla appeared to be deep in thought. "I can see that, I suppose. Well, I'm happy for her."

"Uh, okay," Marcus said. "Also, she said that the only other Octoling she knows is Marina."

Kayla paused. "Now _that's_ interesting."

"It is?" Shianne asked.

"Do you all remember that Octoling that jumped on stage back when Pearl proposed to Marina?" Kayla pulled out her phone and began tapping. "She, too, was an Octoling that I hadn't rescued. I always thought she looked familiar, but…" Kayla stared at her phone, and just like that, she began wiping at her eyes. "She's changed a lot. I thought… I thought she was dead."

She put down her phone, and Marcus saw it was zoomed in on a picture of the same Octoling girl he'd spoken to, except sandwiched in a hug between Off the Hook.

"Wait…" Marcus paused. "Kayla, didn't you say you were F-02-B before you escaped?"

Kayla nodded.

"So she's…" Shianne's eyes widened. "Oh."

"Hey," Marcus said, getting up and putting an arm around Kayla. "This is good, right? She's safe."

"Yes," Kayla said, brushed the remained of her tears away and taking a deep breath. Even when she was so vulnerable, Kayla still managed to emanate an air of pure self-assuredness. "I'm just… confused. And shocked. And happy. So, so happy."

"Do you want to talk to her?" Marcus asked.

"Of course," Kayla laughed. "But I don't know where to find her. Perhaps at Fresh Ink's next tournament, I could sneak into their waiting room."

"The wedding," Shianne said, snapping her fingers. "Off the Hook's wedding is happening in…" she checked her watch. "In like an hour. I read about it in a magazine. 02-A would probably be there, right?"

"She goes by Eight now, presumably," Kayla said. Then she sighed. "I don't want to bother them, though. I wasn't invited."

"I think it's worth a shot," Marcus said. "We'll swing by right as it's ending. That way, we won't disturb them."

"A solid plan," Kayla said. "In the meantime, would you two like to be treated to some lunch?"

"Hell yes," Marcus said.

"If it's not too much trouble," Shianne added.

"Oh, it's the least I can do," Kayla said, getting up from her chair. "Just give me a minute to get some clothes on first."

Three innocuously slipped into a free chair towards the back of the venue just as the Squid Sisters began singing the opening processional. It sounded like some version of _Fresh Start_ that incorporated elements of that standard wedding song that everyone recognized but didn't know the name of, and Three was surprised by how well it worked.

Captain Cuttlefish stood by the altar up on the stage, looking just as kooky as always in his horrible lime outfit. Three watched as Marina entered the room and began gliding down the aisle, wearing an incredibly expensive-looking white suit that had just the faintest hints of dark green accents to match her natural ink color.

Eight followed right behind her, and _adjfhasfuaihwefjikawoe she was also wearing a suit holy shit Three was going to die—_

Eight caught her eye as she walked, giving Three a smile and a wave. Three broke for a half second, then gave a miniscule wave back, smiling nervously and trying not to stare creepily. Eight giggled silently into her hand, which told Three that she had failed, and then turned back to face forwards as they finished their walk.

Pearl and Four emerged in their wake, both sporting elegant white dresses with a few splashes of pink to add some color. Three had to hand it to Four; she knew her stuff when it came to dressing up. She'd expertly nailed the 'look great but just slightly worse than the bride' bit, which was particularly noticeable when compared to Eight and Marina, since—and Three meant no offense to Marina—Eight totally blew her out of the water.

Then again, Three might have been biased.

As they all reached the stage, Pearl and Marina couldn't stop staring at each other. Marina whispered something under her breath, and Pearl whispered something back, adding a devious look. Marina blushed and giggled, Eight looked confused, and Four stuck out her tongue, smiling despite herself.

Captain Cuttlefish cleared his throat, and the four of them quickly stopped their nonsense to look at him.

"Dearly beloved," he began, "we are gathered here today to witness the union of two phenomenal women; women who truly love and deserve one another. Pearl and Marina are surrounded on all sides by love from their fans, their friends, and their family, but more powerful than all of that combined is the love they share for one another.

"The connection these two share is not something one has the honor of seeing every day. Rather, it is something special, something worthy of celebration. Off the Hook has moved so many through the power of their music, but Pearl and Marina have, perhaps, moved even more through the strength of their love. They certainly taught this old man a thing or two about the world, and my rapping has never been better since I met Pearl here." He took a moment to chuckle to himself; off to the side, Three could hear the Squid Sisters groaning.

"Our brides tonight are a pair of the most compassionate, selfless, and honorable women I have ever met, and as I look at all these people who love and care for them so passionately, and so sincerely, the only thing that surprises me is that this didn't happen any sooner."

The crowd laughed, and Marina rolled her eyes.

"Marina, Pearl; the two of you are about to enter into a lifelong bond built from the bricks your love for each other. The future ahead is as fraught with trouble as the past that rests behind us, but when two people dedicate themselves to one another, all storms can be weathered, provided you stay true to one another. As you speak your vows, do so with words, woven of trust, that flow from the soul."

Marina nodded, then reached into her suit pocket, withdrawing a piece of paper and unfolding it in front of her. She took a deep breath, looked into Pearl's eyes, and then back down at the paper.

"Pearl," she began, her voice thick with emotion, "when I went to Mt. Nantai, all that time ago, I was lost. I was desperately searching for refuge, for someplace to call home. I was searching for a purpose. I was searching for a new life. And, well…" She paused to wipe at her eyes. "I must be really good at finding things, because I ran into you. Pearl, you—you _are_ my home. You're my purpose, you're my life. And so long as my hearts still pump blood, I promise that I'll always be there at your side, to laugh with you and cry with you, to fix audio equipment you blow out and help you reach tall shelves, to ask you for fashion advice and drag you out of bed at two in the morning because I've got a new melody line and you just _have_ to hear it—for all of it. Because there's nothing in this world I care more about than being with you, Pearl."

"Well damn," Pearl said, laughing a bit as she rubbed at her eyes. "Maybe I shoulda written something down after all. Well, here goes nothing.

"You know, after I proposed, my Mom asked me if it was love on first sight. I told her that she was insane; when I first saw you, I thought you were pretty weird. I mean, I was right, but it turns out that weird's exactly what I need. Marina, you're—I just really, really love you, okay? And I don't know what I'd do without you. I could have the shittiest day in the world, my—my entire wedding could be completely ruined by some total jerk with a stick up his ass, but as soon as I see your smile, everything's instantly perfect again. You know? And so I proise that I'ma do everything I can, now and forever, to make sure that you keep on smiling." She turned to face the crowd. "And there ain't no motherfucker in the world that can stop me, got it?!"

Craig gave Pearl a tired look, but Marina just smiled at her like she'd recited the most beautiful poetry ever written. Three caught a glimpse of Pearl's mother wiping at her eyes, a look of pride on her face. "You tell 'em, honey!" she called out.

Captain Cuttlefish coughed. "Thank you, ladies. Now, if the maid of honor would please present the rings."

Eight looked at Four and raised an eyebrow. Four pointed at her and mouthed, 'you.' Eight raised her other eyebrow, pointed at herself, and mouthed, 'me?' Four nodded slowly, and Eight slapped a panicked hand against her pocket before sighing silently in relief and pulling out a small velvet box.

She smiled sheepishly at Pearl and Marina as she walked up and opened the box, presenting the rings. The brides just smiled at her before plucking the rings from the box and taking turns sliding them onto each other's fingers.

Once the rings were on, Eight hurried back over to her spot behind Marina. "By the power granted to me by the city of Inkopolis," Cuttlefish began, "I hereby pronounce you married. You may now kiss your wife."

The ballroom erupted into applause as Pearl jumped up into Marina's arms and their lips locked tight.

"Now," Captain Cuttlefish said after giving them a minute to themselves, "who's ready to party?"


	24. 7-6: Stories

"_Winyi weria, tyutterate sokamo, hyarihyari herahora fi nyi nyi!"_

Three maneuvered away from Callie and Marie's performance, heading over to the concession table for a refill on cheap hotel lemonade. God, she could just never get enough of cheap hotel lemonade; it didn't taste good at all, but something about it was just addictive.

Eight was standing by the concession table too, and was idling near the half-eaten wedding cake. She noticed Three and brightened, motioning her over.

"Three! I'm so glad to see you!"

"Yeah, you t—woah!"

Eight grabbed her by the shoulders and whipped her around, carefully adjusting her position. "I'm trying to sneak an extra piece of cake, but I can't have Marina seeing. Just stand right there, don't move, and act natural."

"Um, okay," Three said. Eight shot her one of her best smiles, then turned back to her mission. "I need to refill my lemonade though."

"Just gimme a second." Eight nervously glanced over towards where Pearl and Marina were dancing, then, with frightening speed, grabbed the knife and cut herself a slice of the cake in one clean, calculated motion. She nabbed a paper plate and slid it under the slice, then whipped out a plastic fork and began eating as quickly as possible.

"EIGHT!"

Marina's voice cut across the room, and Eight's eyes went wide. "Oh no! Three, help!"

Three immediately drew herself up to her full height, which meant Eight only had to crouch down a few inches to successfully hide behind her. She turned to face out from the concessions, and saw Marina storming over to them.

"Eight, did you just take another slice of cake?"

Eight made an audible gulping sound, then poked her head out over Three's shoulder.

"No."

"It's true," Three agreed. "You must be seeing things."

"There's frosting on your cheek," Marina said.

"_Sherauste."_

"That could be from anything," Three said quickly.

Marina rolled her eyes. "Eight, I _told_ you, we'll give you a few slices to take home, but only _after_ the other guests have had a chance to—"

"Oh my god, Pearl just fell over!" Eight exclaimed, pointing over Marina's shoulder.

"I'm not falling for that," Marina said flatly.

"Oh, damn, that looks bad," Three said, scrunching up her face. "Is that blood?"

"What?!" Marina swiveled around. "Pearlie!"

Three grabbed Eight's hand and ran.

Marina's distressed cries quickly turned outraged, but they were long gone, lost in the crowd of dancers. Eight quickly shoveled the rest of her cake into her mouth, then shamelessly wiped her lips on her extremely expensive suit.

"Mmm, that cake is _so good!"_ Eight moaned. "Thanks for the save, Three."

"You better thank me. I gave up cheap hotel lemonade for you."

"Aw," Eight said, smiling. "That's so sweet that you'd give up cheap hotel lemonade for me."

"You bet," Three said. "Anybody else, I'd just let Marina go loose on them."

They looked at each other, then started giggling.

"_Honyahirae nyu, runino wenenino, noni, weneno-o!"_

Eight held out her hand. "Want to dance?"

"You know I'm terrible at dancing."

"Yeah," Eight said. "But you're good enough for me."

Three rolled her eyes and smiled, taking her hand. "Alright, fine. But only because you're cute."

Four exited the bathroom and was on her way back to the reception when she was stopped by Meagan and Leo. They were staring at her with crossed arms and crosser expressions.

"Oh." She blinked. "Uh, hey?"

"Hey," Leo said flatly.

"So, now that we've finally got you alone," Meagan began, "would you mind explaining what the _hell_ any of that shit earlier was about?"

"Oh, right," Four said. "That. Thanks again for your help, by the way. You really stepped up to the occasion."

Meagan's expression didn't change. "Explain. Now."

"Didn't I already tell you guys all of this? I'm a secret agent, along with Three and Eight and the Squid Sisters, and those guys were the Octarians, who lost the Great Turf War and are still really ticked about it."

"That doesn't explain anything!" Meagan protested.

"Yeah, you don't just… _become_ a secret agent," Leo said, throwing out a hand. "How long have you been keeping this hidden? Since high school?"

"What? No! It's been less than a year. I only became an agent after the Great Zapfish went missing. Er, the second time."

"Wait, you just…" Leo looked profoundly confused. "Did they choose you because you were a pro turfer or something?"

"Nah, Marie just kind of grabbed me off the street and was like, 'hey, come with me,' and then dragged me into a sewer grate. She told me I was just the first person she found, and that she got lucky."

Meagan raised an eyebrow. "A sewer grate?"

"Well, it wasn't actually a sewer grate; how much do you know about spatial warping technology?"

"Excuse me?" Leo said.

Four rubbed at her temples. "Ugh. Look, can we just go back to the party now? I can explain this all to you whenever you want, but you guys only get a free ticket to Off the Hook's wedding reception featuring a live performance by the Squid Sisters _once."_

Meagan and Leo looked at each other.

"She's got a point," Leo said.

"Yeah. Let's go back."

"Oh thank god," Four said, sighing. "Besides, if you want the full story, Three and Eight should be there as well. They went through this whole thing with an AI that wanted to kill everyone because we weren't good enough as a species at, like, shooting 8-balls around magical floating platforms or something."

"What?"

"Yeah, I don't really understand it all either. But what I _do_ understand is that I want some more of that cake before Eight eats it all." Four pushed open the door to the ballroom just in time to see Eight running off with Three, a piece of cake held on a plate in front of her. "Shit. I gotta go. Catch you later."

She ran off towards the concessions, leaving Meagan and Leo behind to… do whatever it is they do.

Three and Eight danced their way across the ballroom. Or, well, Eight danced; Three just kind of walked in rhythm. She did manage to pull off one of those things where you drop your partner and catch them before they fall, though, which had made Eight blush, so she was calling that a success. Eight had gotten her back with an unexpected twirl, though. Now, they were just swaying along to the music.

"I need a break," Three said in between songs. Eight nodded and slowed to a stop, and they paused there in the middle of the dance floor, holding each other but not moving.

Eight smirked. "I'm surprised you can go turfing for eight hours straight, but get winded after a little dancing."

"Eight, I got thrown through a wall today. Don't forget the wall."

"How can I?" Eight asked. "Those posters Pearl covered it with look so out of place."

Three snickered. "Yeah." She looked over at Eight. "You know, you look really good in a suit."

"Thanks! Marina picked it out for me."

"She did a good job."

Suddenly, Four popped up next to them, taking a bite of cake. "Hey guys. What's happening?"

"Wha—how did you get past Marina?!" Eight exclaimed, looking enviously at the cake.

"I asked nicely," Four said smugly, sliding another forkful into her mouth.

"No you didn't! Liar!"

"I guess she just likes me more than you," Four said, shrugging.

Eight frowned, looking down at Four with disdain. "I don't know what you did to get your hands on that cake," she whispered icily, "but you don't deserve it."

"Oh, and you do?"

"Four," Three warned, "don't test her. You'll regret it."

"I bet you bribed her," Eight said. "I bet you promised her your firstborn."

"That'd be a pretty crappy deal for her," Four said.

Three laughed.

They were interrupted by the screeching of a microphone, and looked up on the stage to see Pearl standing there, smirking, with Callie's mic in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other. "Heads up!" she shouted. It was the only warning she gave before she reared back her arm and hurled the bouquet into the crowd, eliciting a few whoops and hollers from the guests.

The flowers zoomed over the dance floor like an out of control jet plane, only to be halted suddenly by the firm grip of…

Of Eight.

Three groaned and hung her head, even as Four started cackling.

"Sheesh, Pearl, what was that for?" Eight asked, holding up the bouquet. "You could've hit someone."

Pearl was too busy trying not to laugh to answer. Three noticed that Marie behind her was making no such efforts, and was instead roaring with laughter, so she flipped her off. Four had now started elbowing her in the side and waggling her eyebrows, so Three flipped her off, too.

"Well," Pearl said, her voice strained and her grin bordering on manic, "looks like we know who's getting married next now! You know, thanks to that well-known cultural aspect of Inkling weddings, the bouquet toss!"

Eight blinked, then made an 'o' shape with her mouth, then looked over at Three (who returned her gaze with a look of utter cosmic resignation), then flushed a deep, deep red. "Ah. I see."

"HAHAHAHAHA!" Four wheezed, clutching at her side. "Oh, she _totally_ aimed that!"

Three nervously looked around at all the eyes on them and buried her face in her hands. They were _never_ going to stop teasing her and Eight about this, she just _knew _it. "I need to go to the bathroom."

Four laughed louder.

The reception was winding down by now; Meagan and Leo had needed to dip out several minutes ago, and Pearl had just finished saying goodbye to her parents, who were the last guests to leave that hadn't been here during the fight earlier. Eight was privately quite glad that it was calming down; the wedding had been a lot of fun, but having so many unfamiliar people swirling around her had eventually grown to wear on her. She and Three had spent the past fifteen minutes or so talking quietly to each other in the corner.

"We should probably head out too," Callie said. She and Marie had sung their last song of the night—the Inkantation, to nobody's surprise—a while ago, and they looked a little bit exhausted. It had been kind of a long day, to be fair. "We've got an early morning tomorrow."

Marie nodded. "It's idol stuff. You wouldn't understand."

"I think I'd understand," Pearl said.

"You wouldn't understand," Marie repeated.

"Congratulations again, you two!" Callie said, wholly ignoring her cousin. "This was a lot of fun."

"Well, thank you for performing," Marina countered. "I'm sure it doesn't come as a surprise that I've been a big fan of yours even before I met you."

"Most people are," Marie said.

Callie elbowed her.

"Hey, would you girls mind taking Octavio back to the cabin?" Captain Cuttlefish spoke up. "I've got a spare snowglobe in the shed. It'd save an old man some hauling."

"Sure thing, gramps," Marie said.

"You know, you should really invest in a more secure holding cell than a snow globe," Callie suggested.

"Eh." Cuttlefish shrugged. "I don't know. I think it's good for him to really just let loose every once in a while. Forcing him to stop will just make him rebel more."

"This is a war criminal we're talking about, not a five year old throwing a tantrum," Callie said.

"Trust me on this one, kids. We go way back. Roommates in college, you know!"

Callie and Marie exchanged a look.

"Whatever," Marie said finally. "Let's jet."

Eight watched as they slipped out the back way. She briefly heard a gruff voice shout out a slew of curse words, but it was quickly cut off in concert with the sound of a charger going off.

Well. That's that on that, she supposed.

"Excuse me," said a voice from the doorway. "Is this a bad time?"

Eight turned and saw a trio of Octolings standing in the doorway. She heard Three mumble something about locking doors under her breath.

"Sorry, but we're not meeting with fans or press right now," Marina said.

"We're neither of those, actually," said the boy in the front. "We need to speak with Eight. It's important."

"Uh, anybody know who these guys are?" Pearl 'whispered' to the rest of them.

"Wait, you're that guy that talked with us after the tournament," Four said.

"Oh, yeah, that's right," Three said. "…Marble, was it?"

"Marcus," Eight said. She remembered him now; he'd been nice!

Three shrugged. "Close enough."

"Yes!" Marcus said. "Hello again! And this is Shianna and Kayla." He gestured to the other two Octolings, who gave waves.

"Ah, Kayla!" said Captain Cuttlefish, walking forward and vigorously shaking her hand. "Yes, yes! I've wanted to meet with you, but never found the time. Captain Cuttlefish, New Squidbeak Splatoon. I hear you've been doing great work for the Octolings."

"Oh! Thank you," Kayla said. Then she turned to Eight. "But really, I've just been following in my commander's footsteps."

Eight looked at Three, who just shrugged again.

"Do I… know you?" Eight asked.

"You don't…" Kayla walked over to Eight, slowly. "Zadie, it's me. Kayla. 02-B?"

Eight shook. "I'm—I'm sorry, I don't—"

"_So you're my new squad, huh?" Eight said, sizing up the Octolings in front of her. "Who's B?"_

"_I am, ma'am," the girl in front said. "02-B, at your service."_

_Eight nodded. "Specialty?"_

"_Roller, ma'am."_

"_You any good with it?"_

"_I got the highest marks in my class for combat ability, ma'am."_

_Eight smirked. "Do you think that if you had fought in the Great Turf War, you could've turned the tide?"_

"_I—" she frowned. "No, ma'am. I'm one soldier."_

"_Well after I'm through with you, 02-B," Eight said, "that answer's gonna change."_

"Eight! Eight, are you okay?"

Three.

Eight felt her eyes refocus on Kayla's face; felt the warmth of Three's arms supporting her. She gently brushed Three off and stood back up, her head gradually slowing its spin. "Yeah. I'm okay."

"What happened?" Marina asked. She was also at Eight's side now, though not as close as Three.

"Memory," Eight said.

"It's always like this," Three explained. "She'll just zone out for a while. It's been happening more and more frequently."

"Just bits and pieces though," Eight added. "It's more confusing than useful."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Kayla said, finally speaking up. Marcus and Shianne were watching with concern from a few feet behind her, but they were staying out of it. "What's…?"

"Eight suffers from amnesia," Marina said.

"Oh." Kayla looked incredibly sad. No, wait; she looked _forlorn._ That was really the only proper word to describe it. "So… you don't remember me?"

"I remember that you were my second in command. Or something." Eight sighed. "And that you're good with a roller. But that's it."

"I see," Kayla said. Forlornly.

"What did you call me, though?" Eight said. "You said a name."

"Zadie," Kayla said. "Your name is Zadie."

The room went silent, and Eight could feel every pair of eyes in the room centered on her.

She crossed her arms. "I don't like it."

Three put her hand up to her face and shook her head, smiling fondly. Marina gave her the same look she had given her when Eight had once said, in a fit of rage against her laptop, that technology was stupid. Four was very clearly trying not to laugh. Pearl just looked confused. Captain Cuttlefish's face was completely unreadable, as always. And Kayla was just staring at her, her mouth slightly open, frozen.

Eight shrugged. "I don't like it," she repeated.

Kayla's mouth morphed into a grin, and before Eight knew it, she was laughing into Eight's chest. Crying, too, it looked like.

"Whaaaat's going on?" Pearl asked.

"Oh, Zadie," Kayla said through her laughter. "You haven't changed a bit."

A few minutes later, they were all seated in a circle on the floor, listening raptly to Kayla. The more Eight looked at her, the more familiar she seemed; but no more memories were surfacing, even as she recounted her tale.

"I'll start from the first time our hypnosis broke," Kayla began. "When we first heard the Calamari Inkantation, the Octarians who were in charge during DJ Octavio's absence had no idea it had freed our minds. It was a brand new experience for us, having free will and all, so it was a little overwhelming. We didn't know how we should react. There were some that rebelled against the administration; Squad F-04, most notably, acted out, and they were… punished. Harshly. Others tried to escape, such as Marina here. But after she and a scarce few others were successful in getting out, the Octarians grew much stricter.

"Throughout all of this, you, Eight, had been organizing a rebellion amongst the remaining front-ops squadrons. We kept it underground for two years, until finally we were sent on a mission together along with a large Octarian force with the goal to rescue DJ Octavio. A few minutes into the raid on Tentakeel Outpost, we switched ink colors and turned on the Octarians. Unfortunately, we hadn't counted on DJ Octavio being able to free himself."

"Yeah, he does that," Three interjected.

"Shh!" Four hissed, hitting her on the shoulder.

"With his help, the Octarians were able to succeed," Kayla continued. "In the end, all we managed to accomplish was causing enough mayhem for Agent 2 to avoid capture."

"Then you are to thank for Agent 4's victory," Captain Cuttlefish said. "It may not seem like much, but if Agent 2 had been captured along with Agent 1, then recovering the Great Zapfish would have been a much more monumental task than it was."

"Well don't thank me," Kayla said with a smile. "It was all Zadie. Er, Eight. Sorry."

"It's okay," Eight assured.

"Anyway. When our rebellion failed, DJ Octavio realized what had happened, and rehypnotized us all. Except you, Eight. You just… vanished."

"When I was fighting with Octavio earlier, he said that he'd sent me off to go fight Three," Eight said. "To get rid of at least one of us."

"And that's why you were in the Ravine," Three concluded. "Wait, so you were just hypnotized after all! Man, and you went through that whole identity crisis bullshit and everything."

Eight sighed. "Yep."

"Wait, hold up," Shianne said. "When did you fight DJ Octavio?"

"Like, a few hours ago, maybe?" Four said.

"Yeah, he crashed our wedding and everything, the jerk," Pearl said. "It was, like, a whole thing."

"I got thrown through a wall," Three said. You know, with how much she kept bringing it up, Eight was beginning to suspect Three was _proud_ of being thrown through the wall.

"It all worked out in the end, though," Marina assured.

"That's insane," Marcus said.

"I'm sorry," Kayla said. "I wish I had been there to help."

"We handled it," Three said with a wave of her hand. "Anyway, I don't think you were done with your story?"

"Of course," Kayla said. "Well, the next thing that happened was Ms. Lothamer's raid on the HQ, and the second time the Calamari Inkantation was played. The… 'spicy' version, I believe? Unfortunately, while DJ Octavio seems perfectly happy making the same mistake twice, his Octarian underlings proved to be a bit sharper. As soon as the agents had cleared out, they set about rounding up all the Octolings for rehypnotization before they could escape. Fortunately, a few Octolings were able to escape in the chaos, myself included. We hid in various locations until the heat to die down, and then I started this little underground liberation operation I have going. Ever since, I've been helping to break Octolings like Marcus and Shianne here out of the Domes and give them a place to live here in Inkopolis."

"And that's about it," Marcus finished.

"Thanks," Eight said. "For telling me."

"My pleasure, Eight."

"And…" Eight rubbed her arm. "I know it might be awkward, considering the circumstances, but if we were friends before, I'm sure we can be friends again."

"I loved getting to know Zadie over those two years," Kayla said with a smile. "I'd love nothing more than to get to know Eight in the same way."

"Cool," Eight said, returning their grin.

Three coughed. "Just… not sure if you know this, but I am dating her already. Not that that's what you were going for or anything, just. You know, to avoid confusion. Just thought I'd mention it."

"Three, shut up," Eight said.

Kayla laughed. "It's alright, but, yes, I was informed."

"Okay sweet," Three said. "Just ignore me then."

"Well, I don't know about you guys," Pearl said, picking herself up off the ground, "but I'm hella beat. And since it's, like, my wedding, I think that means you guys need to leave?"

"Fair enough," Four said.

"Cool." Pearl put her hands on her hips and looked around the room. "How are we dividing up the rest of the cake again?"

"CAN I HAVE IT?" Eight asked, jumping up and grabbing Pearl by the shoulders.

"Eight, it _is_ their wedding cake," Three said.

Eight looked over her shoulder and hissed. _"Betrayal!"_

Three put her hands up in surrender and backed out of the conversation. Good Three.

"You can have _some_ of the cake," Marina said, looking stern.

"Pleeeaaaase?"

Marina's mouth, previously a stoic, firm line, began to wobble. "…Fine, you can have the cake. We'll just get another on our honeymoon."

"In between all the hot sex," Pearl added, becuase she was Like That.

"Yes!" Eight said. She hugged Marina, pretended not to see the little fist pump Three did, and then ran over to the cake, putting the little plastic cover over it. "Alright. See you guys later!"

They all exchanged goodbyes, Three made sure to actually get the Octolings' phone numbers, and then before they knew it, they were in Three's car, driving out towards her apartment complex. They went the whole ride in a lovely sort of silence, enjoying the peace of their thoughts, and the comfort of each other's company.

Eight couldn't help but think about the bouquet she'd caught, and what it had apparently meant. (She was still mad at Pearl for that, but she'd stolen her cake, so maybe they were even.) Eight looked over at Three, who was watching the road with the ghost of a smile lining her face, and decided that, for now, she would just enjoy things as they were. After everything that had happened today, she could feel some sort of tranquility deep within her hearts, instead of the deep-rooted anxiety that had been plaguing her ever since she'd woken up down in the station without her memory.

Even if she didn't have her memories back, she knew who she was, now. And she…

She was Eight.

She was Eight, and Three was Three, and they loved each other. And that was plenty good enough for her.

When Three woke up for the third time that night, it was to an empty bed. Looks like she wasn't the only one struggling to fall asleep.

Rubbing her eyes, she hopped out of bed and walked out of the apartment. There was no sign of Eight, except for a plate on the kitchen counter that was sprinkled with cake crumbs, and the fact that the front door was unlocked. Three smiled; with all that sugar, Eight would _never_ get back to sleep.

She slipped out of her apartment and began climbing up the main staircase, all the way to the very top, past the 'no entry' sign. She pushed open the roof exit of the apartment building, and sure enough, there was Eight, sitting on the building's precipice and staring out at the night sky like it was full of secrets.

"What are you doing up here?" Three asked softly, sitting down next to her and laying her hand overtop of Eight's. She let her bare feet dangle over the edge of the roof, let them swing back and forth to the rhythm of their pulses.

"Thinking," Eight said. "Can't sleep."

"Yeah, me neither." Three leaned against her, her head slotting into the space between Eight's ear and shoulder. It had always been a rough, perfect fit. "What are you thinking about?"

"You," Eight answered, wrapping an arm around her. "And serendipity."

"Marina teach you that one?"

"Sure wasn't Pearl."

Three snorted.

They sat there for a while, staring up at the stars. The night air was cold, but they were not.

"I slept up here once," Three said after a minute, or an hour, or whatever. "On my first day in Inkopolis. Didn't have my apartment yet or anything, so I slept up here on the roof."

"Sounds uncomfortable."

"It was. I was cold. And alone. And I was itching in so many places the next morning."

"I had to sleep on the train seats down in the metro."

"Yeah? How was that?"

"Uncomfortable. I was cold. And alone."

"Aw, don't say that," Three said, shifting her weight towards Eight just a smidgen. "You had Gramps down there to keep you company, right?"

"True. Him and all his wisdom from the good old days," she joked. "It's astounding how much he can remember. How many stories."

"Yeah."

"I think that's all we really are, you know? Just stories." She laughed, and shook her head. "What am I even saying? I think I need to go to bed."

"No, I get it," Three said. "Sometimes I think about my life back in Seasponge County, or two years ago when I moved here, or… I don't know, last week when I went grocery shopping. And it all feels so distant. Just pages in a book."

Eight nodded. "Just stories."

"Just stories."

Three watched the headlights of a car roam through the city, far away from them. She traced patterns across the streets with her eyes.

"You're my favorite character," Eight said.

Three laughed, and they rocked against each other, back and forth on the rooftop. "You're so cheesy. You're my favorite character, too." Three snuggled closer to Eight. "You know, it doesn't feel like I was fighting for my life today."

"It really doesn't," Eight said. "I think I was more scared when I'd thought I'd lost the rings than when I was facing down Octavio."

"Exactly," Three said. "Like, when I think about the most frightening moments of my life, I don't think about today, or about Kamabo, or about Octo Valley. I think about… asking you out. I think about seeing you at the museum after you hadn't talked to me for days. I think about the first night we had sex."

"I think about that night a lot."

"Oh, shut up. You know what I'm getting at."

"Yeah, I do," she admitted. "It's funny like that, isn't it?"

"I think it's because my story isn't about Octavio, or being an agent. It's about meeting you."

"Now who's the cheesy one?"

"I'm serious!" Three insisted. "All that shit I went through as a kid, agreeing to save the Great Zapfish on a whim, bouncing from job to job, running from my identity—just, everything, all of my stories, they all—they all feel like _setup. _Just to lead me to you."

"Serendipity," Eight said.

"Serendipity," Three agreed.

"We should probably go back in."

"Probably."

Half an hour later, Three had memorized the constellations, and memorized the way Eight's fingers intertwined with her own. Her feet continued to swing in the open air, back and forth, back and forth, and the headlights that cut though the night followed all the same streets that she'd outlined for them ages ago.

"What are you thinking about?" Eight asked.

"You," Three answered, pulling her tight. "And stories."

* * *

**A/N**

Guys? Thank you so much for reading. I got really emotional writing that last scene; I'm humbled that you all chose to come on this journey with me, and share in my world of squid romance. This series has done better than I ever expected, and I've made some great friends along the way. Every kudo and every comment and every anonymous ask on my tumblr about random shit means so much to me, I can't thank you all enough.

Anyway. This chapter marks the end of the story of Eight and Three, but not the end of the series: there's one more story I'll be posting, this time about the beginning of the story of Eight and Three. It'll be a prequel, it will probably be the longest work in the series, and it will come out at some unknown time in the future. It'll probably be a couple months; I wanted to complete this fic before I start college next week (oh god) and so I pushed out double updates, which kind of ate up my backlog. But it is on its way, and I think there's some good stuff in there, so stay tuned!

Thanks one last time, everyone. I couldn't do it without you! Stay fresh!


	25. 8-1: The Agent and the Rebel

Amy sat on the hard train seat, listening to the wheels clatter against the rails. She had her backpack sitting in her lap, her suitcase between her feet, her wallet in her pocket, and literally nothing else. She let out a deep breath and tried not to think about the future.

She picked a discarded newspaper up off the train floor to try to distract herself, but found the front-page headlines to be unamusing. They were all about politics, or foreign relations, or other bullshit that she couldn't care less about. She flipped to the sports section, and was greeted with some girl holding up a trophy and smiling way too smugly at the camera. With nothing better to do, Amy sighed and began reading.

_18-year-old Lynn Lothamer set records today as the youngest Inkling to ever win the National Turf War Championship, along with the other three representatives from Inkopolis: Jane Eywall, Harriet Tremors, and Jackson Derrymore, all long-time staples of the Inkopolis turfing scene with much more experience under their belts compared to their young teammate. While Inkopolis taking home the gold isn't much of a surprise, Lothamer took the championship by storm, proving that experience isn't everything. In a post-finals interview, she mentioned that she will likely be forming a turfing team of her own after this event, stating she has some friends from her private high school, Inkblot Academy, that know their way around an arena._

Amy stuck out her tongue and dropped the newspaper. Ugh. Private schoolers; what assholes. Amy bet she could wipe the floor with this 'Lynn' prick with one hand behind her back. What a load of shit.

"Not to pry," said a voice from behind her, "but shouldn't a kid like you be in school right about now?"

Amy turned to the elderly inkling sitting next to her and made a face. "Shouldn't a fossil like you be dead right about now?"

The old man looked at her and laughed through his beard, which was not the response Amy was used to receiving when she insulted someone to their face. "I've still got a few years left in me. Headed to Inkopolis, are you?"

"What are you, a cop?"

The man laughed again. "Not exactly. I'm going there, too. To visit my grandchildren." He leaned on that bamboo cane of his, and smiled to himself. "I don't get to see them in person very often these days. Our jobs keep us busy."

"Uh huh." Amy really hoped this wouldn't continue for the rest of the train ride.

"Mmm. Maybe surrounding myself with such youthful energy is what had been keeping me so spry over the years. I should get back in touch, if only for my skin health."

Amy squinted at him. "…Right."

She let his talking fade off into the background, and turned to look out the train window as the scenery flashed past. Well… this was it. Inkopolis or bust. She certainly couldn't go back home, so she'd have to make it work.

And she could totally make it work! It'd be fine. She'd get a job, and an apartment, and it'd be fine.

* * *

Amy could not make it work. It was not fine.

As it happened, landlords didn't rent out apartments to sixteen-year-olds with next to no money. So she'd had a great first night in the city, sleeping on the roof of the apartment complex.

And then because her life was simply going far too fucking well, and obviously the universe had to balance out all the good fortune she'd been showered with this past week, the Great Zapfish himself had gone missing, so now they were running a third of the normal turf war blocks due to spawn power management. So now she couldn't even fucking turf. And don't forget that she still had nowhere to live. Because she didn't. And she only had enough money to eat for another week or so.

At least she didn't have to see Mom.

Grabbing her bags, she super-jumped off the roof of the apartment building and dropped down onto the street, scaring a nearby couple half to death. She shoved her hands into her pockets and began stomping towards Inkopolis Plaza for breakfast.

And then she saw that old man from the train poke his head out of a sewer grate.

What the fuck.

He looked around a few times, made eye contact with Amy, and shlurped back down though the hole.

What the fuck.

Amy really wanted to just keep walking and try to forget about it, because, as stated: What the fuck. But her body had other plans, apparently, and she found herself peering into the grate.

It did not lead to the sewers. This was not a normal grate. There was some… weird light inside it, that seemed to warp and distort the more she looked at it. Like a picturesque skyscape had been ripped out of reality, balled up, and thrown inside.

Three sighed, prepared for the worst, and jumped.

* * *

"A _kid?"_ Agent 1 exclaimed. "Gramps, you hired a _kid_ to fight an _army?"_

"Yeah, and I've been doing a damn good job of it, you incognito motherfucker."

Agent 2 looked at Three. It was hard to discern her expression past her face mask. "She's got one hell of a mouth on her, that's for sure."

"You wanna go? Gonna run away and shoot me like a charger-using coward?"

"Okay, you seriously need to chill," Two said flatly.

Agent 1 sighed and put her hands on her hips. "Can she even legally work for us? She's like fifteen!"

Three crossed her arms. "I'm _sixteen_ so you can shut the _fuck _up."

"Three here cleared two areas in the Valley today," Cap'n Cuttlefish said.

Agent 1's jaw dropped open. "No way. In a single day?"

He nodded. "In about six hours, yes."

"Both bark and bite, I guess," Agent 2 noted, starting to give Three a closer look. "Who are you?"

"Not the one wearing a mask is who," Three said. Seriously. They were asking her all sorts of questions, but didn't even have the balls to show their faces? Pussies.

Agent 2 gave a sharp laugh. "Fair enough, I suppose."

"You never answered my question," One said, frowning. "Regardless of her abilities, is this even legal?"

"Fourteen is the legal working age in Inkopolis," Cuttlefish said simply.

"Yeah, but this is—"

"Hey, is it okay if I crash in your cabin tonight?" Three interrupted. "That way I can get started smashing octo ass right when I wake up."

"Sure thing," Cap'n said.

"Do you need to call anyone?" asked Two. "You can use my phone if you want."

"No," Three said.

* * *

Agent 3 walked into the cabin and practically slammed the door behind her.

"Well damn," Marie said. "I was just asking."

Callie frowned. Something was off here. "Gramps, who is that kid? Like, where did you find her?"

Gramps shrugged, adjusting his cap. "Sat next to her on the train when I was coming back from your parents' place in Calamari Country," he explained. "I felt like she was exactly what we needed, and we were exactly what she needed."

"Oh, I think I get it," Marie said. "Maybe you should be a bit more vague, though. Just in case."

"Marie's right," Callie said, cocking a hip and looking dead into her grandpa's eyes. "Don't you know anything about her? Name? Origin? Why she's apparently a good enough battler at sixteen to take down multiple Ancient Octoweapons in series?"

"Nope."

Marie gave him a look. "Not even a _name?"_

"Nope."

Callie rested her face in her hands. "And we're depending on her to beat Octavio?"

"Well, we can probably help her with that part, but yeah."

"Gods," Callie said.

"To be fair," Marie said, "she recovered eleven zapfish in the time it took us to recover six. That's almost twice as fast, and there's two of us."

"I'm not questioning her abilities," Callie said—though, that _was _frighteningly impressive. "Just… how do we know we can trust her?"

"We can." Gramps began. "Agent 3 is a great many things, from what I can tell. Hurt. Angry. Desperate. But she's, I think, the furthest thing from a bad person you're gonna find around here."

"How would you know?" Marie asked. "You've only known her for a day. Less, even."

Gramps smiled. "She reminds me of someone."

* * *

Three was standing outside the Octarian headquarters with Agents 1 and 2. This was it. After this, DJ Octavio would be defeated, Cap'n Cuttlefish and the Great Zapfish would be rescued, and Three…

Would have nowhere to live again.

Cool. So, anyway.

"I hope the captain was right about you," Agent 2 mumbled under her breath.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Three asked. "I've carried your sorry asses this far, haven't I? I'm not gonna drop the ball here and fuck all this up for us."

"That's… oddly sweet of you, Three," said Agent 1. "And we'll be right behind you. We've got a trick up our sleeves."

"Lookin' forward to it," Three mused, raising her hero shot. "Let's go kick some DJ ass."

* * *

Zadie speed-walked across the metal catwalk towards the Octobot King's hangar. She wanted to run, but safety regulations demanded that they not run on the catwalks. It was a dumb rule. Zadie had fantastic coordination and was confident she could run back and forth on these catwalks all day without falling to her untimely death and wasting spawn power—but Zadie was not one to break the rules, so she speed-walked.

When she reached the hangar, the DJ was there, his back to the door. He was talking with someone who, if Zadie remembered correctly, was the head engineer. S-01-A, she believed. They didn't talk much. Or at all, really—Zadie's squad worked with S-02, when they worked with sci-ops at all.

S-01-A noticed her and mentioned something to Octavio before grabbing a wrench and jumping inside the King's plating. The DJ gave Zadie a nod, and she approached.

"Report, sir."

He motioned for her to continue.

"Agent 3 cleared out Area 4 about half an hour ago. Our scouts say she and the rest of the Splatoon just arrived at the entrance to the HQ. Judging by Agent 3's previous pace, she should arrive here in roughly two hours."

DJ Octavio grumbled to himself, and slammed a boot against the ground. "Shit_._ We need more time before the Octobot King is ready. The damn fists aren't spinning like they're supposed to." He turned to Zadie. "Take your squad, and any other squads you can find, and go slow down that hipster as much as you can."

Zadie nodded, and walked off.

* * *

Squad F-02 was stationed just in front of the zapfish in kettle 27; it was the last zapfish they still had besides the Great Zapfish himself. Zadie stood in the back, the long strands of seaweed woven into her tentacles rippling behind her. Her three subordinates stood in front of her, and to their left, all of the F-01 squad stood at the ready.

"Agent 3 has hacked the third spawn point," F-01-A said, next to her. "She'll be here any minute. Keep your senses sharp. Our only spawns left are back at HQ, so if you get splatted, head to the arena to support the DJ once she reaches him." She nodded at Zadie. "02-A and I are taking up the rear, so you all start the charge on my signal."

No one expended the energy to acknowledge her; all was understood. They took their places behind the makeshift cover they'd placed around the area, and 01-A peeked out over the top of hers to track Three's movements. Zadie heard the telltale squelches of Octarians getting splatted, and then not too long after, 01-A gave a shout.

All eight Octolings burst from their hiding spots and converged on the unsuspecting agent. _"Shit! That's a lot!" _she cried in Inklish, retreating a few yards back through her ink.

"Cut off her paths!" Zadie shouted, chucking a splat bomb over the heads of her squadmates.

Agent 3 dropped a pair of seekers on the ground, then jumped back away from the bomb, dropping into her ink. Most of their team got out of the way, but F-01-D was caught by one of the seekers, and went up in ink. Not a second later, 02-B went down to Agent 3's hero shot.

Agent 3 shifted her aim immediately onto 01-B with frightening precision, not wasting a single glob of ink. But just as 01-B's body lost its form, 02-D nailed the inkling with a splattering of ink, and Zadie swam under 01-C's feet, jumping out of her ink and firing down on Agent 3. She swore, and backed off, only to bump into 01-A, who had wrapped around behind her in the chaos.

"_Eat shit,"_ 01-A said in crude Inklish, putting her octoshot to the agent's head.

"_Fuck you,"_ Agent 3 said, and dropped a slat bomb at her feet.

01-A pulled the trigger right as the bomb detonated. When the multicolor cloud of ink rained to the ground, neither cephalopod was anywhere to be seen.

"She'll respawn soon," 02-D said.

"Orders?" asked 01-C, looking up at her.

Zadie took stock of the situation. They'd lost the element of surprise, as well as all of squad 01 except for 01-C. Zadie's squad was more intact, but she'd lost her second, and, to be perfectly honest with herself, she wasn't very confident in her C and D to hold their own against Agent 3. She had a sneaking suspicion that the DJ wouldn't have enough time to get those arms working how he wanted.

But it's not like they could give up. That would be unthinkable treason.

"Let's advance on the spawn. Ink as much as you can along the way. Remember, we're here to buy time."

The rest of the octolings nodded, and they moved forward, erasing as much green ink as they could. It wasn't long before they ran into Agent 3 once again, except this time, she looked _pissed._

"_You fuckers! I don't have time to get splatted!" _She bared her beak and snarled, weaving in between shots and gunning down the rest of Zadie's squad with robotic efficiency. Zadie kept firing despite it all, but Agent 3 threw a bomb down, forcing her to retreat. When she resurfaced, Agent 3 was running towards the zapfish, completely ignoring her.

"_Hey!" _Zadie called. _"Get back here, you _ass-fucker!"

"_No! I don't have time to deal with another elite!"_ the Agent yelled over her soldier. _"And what's a 'mikero'?"_

Before Zadie could catch up with her, she'd popped the zapfish's cage, nabbed him, and superjumped back to the kettle's entrance.

Zadie swore. She'd finally faced Agent 3 one-on-one, and she just _ran?_ No. This wasn't over. Zadie morphed into her octopus form, pressed herself against the ground, and superjumped after the agent, landing in front of the kettle.

She hesitated for a bit. If she were splatted outside of a kettle, she wouldn't respawn. They had orders specifically not to leave their stationed kettles for that very reason.

But this was different! She also had orders to slow down Three. She'd just lay low and catch her when she went into the boss kettle. With that plan in mind, Zadie jumped through the grate.

* * *

This battle was chaos. Fists and bombs and lasers and inkzookas were being volleyed back and forth at hectic speeds as Agent 3 chased the Octobot King in circles around the arena. Tons of octarians and octolings filled the stands around the perimeter, dancing along to Octavio's music and cheering him on.

Zadie was having trouble getting close to Agent 3. The upside of this was that she didn't think the agent had seen her yet, but, still, it was kind of difficult to kill her when she couldn't reach her.

After Zadie was nearly splatted by a chain reaction of several balloon fish, she decided to run around in the opposite direction instead. She wouldn't be able to come up from behind this way, but at least she'd have the Octobot King's shield as cover until she got close enough to shoot.

It was only about a half a minute of running before the looming form of the Octobot King was before her. She could see Agent 3 on the ground beyond it, though she was distracted by several octobombers Octavio had thrown out. Carefully, Zadie snuck up on her, Octoshot at the ready.

Zadie's first few shots caught the inkling's cheek before she reflexively swam out of range. She fired a few shots in retaliation before leaping away from one of the King's mini-killer wails and rolling behind a block of turf. Zadie, crouched against the ground, snuck up on the other side of the cover.

"_Hey, guys, I could really use some support right now!"_ Agent 3 said from around the corner.

Zadie paused. This could be important to hear.

"_Sure thing, Three!" _said a chipper voice through Agent 3's earpiece. _"Get ready!"_

"_Radio override activated."_ That was a different voice.

DJ Octavio's mix suddenly cut out, and was replaced by static. And then, after a second, music.

"_Agent 3! Can you hear our song?!"_

Zadie could.

Oh man, Zadie could. She was standing directly in front of the Octobot King's speakers. It was _all_ she could hear. And it was… confusing.

The melodies of the song washed over her and those too-perfect voices latched onto her and pulled her up, up and away, and she soon was looking down at her body, standing there between Octavio and Agent 3.

"What… what am I doing?"

She saw, up from above, Agent 3 turn at the sound of Zadie's voice. A few quick shots, and everything went black.

Zadie reformed atop the respawn point only seconds before she heard a cacophonous explosion in the distance, and the telltale sound of the spawn point's power fizzling out. But it was all as if she were wearing muffling earphones; that song was the only thing she could hear.

_Ya. Weni. Marei. Mirekyarahira. Juri. Yu mirekerason._

Zadie's head was a swirl of inscrutable thoughts and emotions as she gazed around the Domes, but she knew one thing for certain: She wanted to be able to hear that song again someday.

She wanted out.


	26. 8-2: Your Own Worst Enemy

On the way back to Cuttlefish Cabin, Three was mildly freaking out, because _holy shit_ One and Two were actually _Callie and Marie_ of the _Squid Sisters_ and she was a _huge fan_ but also she had built up a very _antagonistic relationship _with them so she wouldn't have to share any _embarrassing personal details_ with them (because she could always deflect with an insult) and now if she did anything to let them know she was a huge fan they would _tease her without mercy_ and it would _ruin her cool stoic persona_ and also that would get back around to the whole _personal details_ thing she'd mentioned earlier in her circular mental breakdown that had been looping for about ten minutes now.

So yeah she was mildly freaking out.

"God," Callie said from a few feet away, struggling under the weight of DJ Octavio, who was lying unconscious on her back. "Anybody else wanna carry octo-fart here? My back is killing me."

"I carried him the first third," Marie said matter-of-factly. "It's Three's turn."

"Nah," Three said, keeping her voice as level as possible. "You pop stars probably have like butlers and shit to carry things for you most of the time. You could use the humbling experience."

Callie and Marie gave her flat looks.

"What?"

Callie rolled her eyes. "Three, you _know_ we're secret agents, and you're still accusing us of being lazy celebrities?"

"Yeah, secret agents who didn't do shit. I was the one fighting!"

"You don't have even the _faintest_ idea of how many hours of surveillance and recon we put into this," Marie snapped. "Plus, we make damn good music."

"I hate all of your music and have never listened to any of it," Three said immediately.

"How do you know you hate it if you've never heard it?" Cap'n Cuttlefish asked innocently from behind them. Three turned and glared at him while One and Two laughed.

"You guys suck."

"Love you too, Three," Callie said.

"Ew," Three said, looking away to hide her smile.

* * *

Two days later, Callie shifted through the grate, taking in the unique smells of the Valley. It was nice and tranquil on the border; very different from the hustle and bustle of Inkopolis proper. She could see why Gramps liked to spend time out here. Callie might like to spend her spare hours out here, too, if she had any. But between Inkopolis News, the Squid Sisters, and agent stuff, she was a _tiny _bit pressed for time.

She stepped onto the cabin's porch and reached for the door. Gramps shouldn't be here right now: he'd been in the city ever since the mission ended, talking with the government and military about what had happened. He'd even crashed at her and Marie's place last night—though, he'd been gone again by the time they woke up.

Thus, she was surprised when she opened the door to see a figure huddled under the blankets on the futon, surrounded by wrappers from Gramps's favorite brand of granola bars.

"…Three?"

The lump under the covers jerked upwards, and Callie was soon assaulted by a mess of thrown-off blankets. She brushed them off of her face to see Three sitting on the futon, staring at her with that unreadable expression of hers. She didn't look… great.

"What are you doing here?" Three demanded.

"I'm getting my roller," Callie answered. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"None of your business," Three said.

Callie didn't know what she had expected. She looked from Three's face to the floor and back again. "Well. At least now Gramps has another person who likes his disgusting granola bars."

"He doesn't," Three said. "I fucking hate granola bars."

"Oh." Callie paused for a second, not entirely sure what to say. "So, uh. Any particular reason you've been living in my grandfather's shack?"

Three's unwavering expression wavered. Her eyes looked strangely… vulnerable. Callie had not thought that Three could ever look vulnerable, but, then again, they'd only known each other for like four or five days.

"I don't have anywhere else," Three said. And then shrugged, like that was No Big Deal and an Okay Thing for a sixteen year old to say.

Callie sighed and dug through her purse. "What's your name?"

Three made a face of utter repulsion. "Excuse me?"

"Like, you know, your name?" She found her wallet, and a pen, and pulled them out. "The thing that people say so that you know they're talking about you?"

"I know what a name is, fuckass. Why the hell do you care?"

"You know what?" Callie grabbed a check, wrote down a number with a comfortable amount of zeroes, and scribbled in her signature. "Write it yourself."

She handed the check over to Three, who took it tentatively, looked down, and completely lost her composure.

"What the fuck, Callie," Three said, eyes bugging out. "Do you hand out signed checks to every fucking homeless kid you see on the street?"

"No," Callie said. "Only the ones who are my friends, and deserve a hell of a lot better."

Three looked up at her with complete confusion in her eyes. "I don't… no, I can't take this. You don't know what you're doing. You don't… know me."

Callie looked into Three's eyes and frowned.

Both her and Marie had been only children growing up—that's part of the reason they'd clung so closely to one another. Sure, they were cousins, but it'd always felt like they'd been sisters; that's where the band name had come from. "Cousin" felt so… _detached._ That was for distant family. People who you were only related to in blood. Sisters cared for each other, had each other's backs. It was different.

Three _clearly_ had no decent family, so…

They might be adopting a younger sister.

"Listen very carefully, Three," Callie said. "You are going to take that money. Gramps'll help you find a place to stay. You're gonna find a day job of some kind. And you're going to be okay."

Three nodded, rubbed her eyes, stood up, walked over to Callie, and gave her a hug.

"Tell anyone I'm doing this right now," she said, "and I'll papercut your tentacles into pieces."

Callie giggled. "Right, right."

Three broke off the hug and scurried out of the cabin. Callie smiled, sighed, and dabbed at the wet spot on her shirt where Three had put her face.

Then she looked at the time. "Oh, Marie's gonna kill me." She grabbed her roller from where it leaned against the wall, and made a beeline for the grate.

* * *

**A few months later…**

Marie was in the middle of loading the dishwasher when Three walked in unannounced. She smirked, leaned against the counter, and slid the glass she was holding into place. "Oh, please, come in. No need to knock."

"Don't act like you wouldn't do the same if you knew where I lived," Three said.

"You really should tell us," Callie said from the living room, looking over her magazine. "The hosting to visiting ratio is skewed beyond belief. This is exactly the kind of thing that can tear a friendship apart."

"Callie, move," Three said dryly. "I came here to lie down on your fancy rich person couch and you're taking up too much fucking space."

"Did you come here for the couch?" Callie asked coyly, moving to the armchair. "Or did you come here because you _liiiiiiiiiike uuuuuuuuuusssss?"_

Three faceplanted into the sofa and mumbled something unintelligible into the cushions.

"No but seriously," Marie said, moving away from the dishwasher to lean in the doorway to the living room. "Is something up? You're showing like twenty percent more emotion than normal. It's weird."

Understanding Three's emotional process was a skill that took time to develop, considering that she usually hid all her feelings behind a thorny and surprisingly robust wall of snark and generalized aggression, but Marie was starting to get the hang of it. Callie, too, if her lack of complaining when Three asked her to move was anything to go by.

Three turned her neck so she wasn't speaking directly into the fabric. "I lost my job."

"Aw, shit," Marie said, frowning. "That sucks."

"The one at the café with the name you won't tell us?" Callie asked.

"Yeah."

Callie and Marie looked at each other. "Need us to spot you some cash for the moment?" Marie asked. "Cause we definitely have the—"

"Nah, nothing like that," Three said quickly, waving her off. "I'm looking at this… furniture store with an opening. They want people who can lift heavy stuff, and there's not much customer interaction, so it's, like, perfect for me. Still kinda sucks though, which is why I came here." She paused. "For your couch."

"Yes, right, for the couch," Marie said.

"Aww!" Callie squealed, poking Three in the ribs. "You do like us! Ooh, are we the people you're gonna come to when you have romance issues? Please?"

Three nearly gagged. "Ew, no. Callie, despite how comfortable this couch is, I _will_ get up and walk out."

"Fine, fine," Callie said, throwing her hands up.

"So, dish. How'd you get fired?" Marie asked.

"I punched a customer."

Callie sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Yeah, well, that'd do it."

"Nice," Marie said. "Go out with a bang."

"Don't _encourage_ her!" Callie screeched.

"Come on, Callie," Marie said, giving her cousin a disappointed look. Didn't she know proper friend code? "Losing a job is just like a breakup; you're supposed to shit-talk the ex so your friend feels better. Bet those co-workers were dicks, huh, Three?"

"Ugh, the worst!" Three exclaimed, rolling over on the couch. "And don't get me started on my bitch-ass _manager._ When he wasn't yelling at us to work harder, he was bragging about how good he is at _salmon runs._ Like, really?"

"What a jerk," Marie said. "Shoulda followed him on the runs and fed him to a maws."

"Ha!" Three laughed. "That'd teach him."

"Okay, sorry to ruin your shit talking session or whatever, but I'm still wondering why you punched this customer," Callie asked.

"Don't tell me you've never wanted to punch a fan before," Marie said.

"No! I haven't!"

Marie rolled her eyes. Liar.

"Well, it was simple, really," Three said. "Dude walks in, orders a coffee. Then when I'm ringing him up he says my ass looks great, and… other, similarly creepy shit. So I clock him in the jaw."

"Okay, well, understandable," Callie said. "Though I _still_ think you overreacted."

"Hey, if it's any consolation, I think you've got a pretty great ass too," Marie teased, throwing in a wink for good measure.

"Oh I'm not gay," Three said, extraordinarily quickly.

Okay.

So.

So that was weirdly defensive. Was that weirdly defensive? Marie looked to Callie, who was already giving Marie a face that clearly communicated, 'Hey, Marie, that was weirdly defensive, wasn't it?'

Marie chanced a glance back at Three, who was wearing a totally neutral expression, as if literally nothing had just happened. Probably not a good idea to bring it up, then.

Marie looked back at Callie, and gave her the 'Hey Callie! This is an awkward social situation, and you're much better at those than I am, so please bail us out!' look. Callie, of course, understood immediately, and said, "Actually, Marie and I are quitting our job at Inkopolis News soon, too! So we're, like, job-losing buddies!"

Oh, great, bouncing from one uncomfortable topic to another. That was fantastic. But this one was more manageable, Marie supposed, because it was only uncomfortable for her. Callie was very gung-ho about the whole thing.

"Oh, really?" Three asked. "Got tired of saying the same five jokes you have for each stage over and over?"

"We actually wanted some more time to work on our independent careers," Callie said. "And between the Splatoon and Inkopolis News, it was getting pretty hectic."

"But it was mostly the jokes, yeah," Marie added in.

"Independent careers?" Three asked.

"Yeah!" Callie said. "Don't get me wrong, I love being in the Squid Sisters, but it's also nice to get to do my own thing, you know?"

"Plus we can only perform the Inkantation so many times per month before it becomes illegal," Marie added. Maybe if she kept deflecting with humor every time it was her turn to speak, nobody would ask about her actual feelings on the matter. That tended to work.

Three narrowed her eyes. "Was that a joke, or is that something to do with its weird ancestral mind magic?"

"Eh." Marie made a wishy-washy hand gesture. "Let's just say it's really, really easy to get that song stuck in your head."

"I wonder how the number two best-selling band would feel if they knew you guys cheat by using hypnosis."

"That is a gross misconstruction of the facts," Marie said.

"I still think it's cheating." Three sat up on the couch. "So how's Cap'n doing?"

"Oh, gramps?" Callie perked up. "Really well! He actually participated in the Inkopolis Annual Marathon last week."

Three blinked. "Excuse me?"

From there, the conversation moved from their grandfather's possible immortality to turfing stage/weapon combo preferences to a very heated debate about bagels, and it was almost like all that awkwardness from before had never happened.

Marie sighed. Everything would work out just fine, she was sure.

Eventually.

Probably.

* * *

**A few months later… **

Starfish Mainstage was utterly packed by the time Amy arrived; boys and girls, young and old, inklings, crustaceans, urchins, jellyfish—anybody lucky enough to snag some tickets.

Amy took a second to be mildly off put by the giant smiling face of Callie on the promotional banners, then collected herself and handed over two tickets to the jellyfish usher. He bobbed a little and nodded at her, then began walking down the aisle towards the front.

"Woah. I don't think I've _ever _seen Starfish this packed before," Fiona said from behind Amy as they followed the jelly. "Are they sure this doesn't break fire safety laws?"

"I'm pretty sure Callie could murder someone and receive full pardon," Amy said.

"You're probably right."

Fiona was one of Amy's coworkers at the furniture store she worked at, and the only one who was actually tolerable to be around. That probably had something to do with the fact that Fiona was seventeen: only a few months older than Amy. Aside from them, the youngest person who worked there was, like, thirty, and if you're still working in a goddamn furniture store in your thirties, you're probably not very fun to hang around with. So when Callie had given Amy a couple tickets to her first solo show, there was only one reasonable option, really.

The usher stopped at the second row, gestured to a few empty seats towards the middle, and gurgled something unintelligible. Amy nodded her thanks, and slipped past a family of anemones to get to their spots.

"Oh my god, Amy! How on earth did you get these _seats,_ girl? Win some radio contest?"

Amy smirked. "See, I'm actually really good friends with Callie, and she gave them to me specifically."

Fiona rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, you like your secrecy and shit. Whatever, I'm just glad you let me tag along."

"Who else was I going to give the extra to? Kaitlyn?"

"God, if you had given it to _that_ bitch, I don't think we would still be friends," Fiona said, sticking out her tongue.

"Only thing I'm interested in giving her is a lamp straight up her cramped little—"

Amy was interrupted by Fiona squealing and grabbing her arm as Callie took to the stage, smiling ear to ear and waving both arms above her head at the crowd.

"Oh my goooooood, there she is!" Fiona screeched in Amy's ear, shaking her vigorously by the arm.

"Yes, yes, she's—she's definitely there," Amy said, staring at where Fiona was grabbing her. Is this what friends did? Shake each other?

"Hey! How's everybody doing tonight?" Callie called out, pulling the microphone from its stand. "You guys ready for a show?"

The crowd roared in response. As Callie continued to hype them up a bit, the opening beats to _Bomb Rush Blush_ began to blast over the speakers, and before Amy knew it, the concert was in full swing.

* * *

The last song of the night was Callie's slightly more peppy cover of _Tide Goes Out,_ and by the time it was over, Amy had to admit that she felt a little disappointed.

"Shoutout to Marie for letting me cover her song! Wish you were here, cuz!" Callie shouted, pointing up at the sky. Amy frowned; was Marie not here? That felt wrong. "Thanks for being you, Inkopolis! I had a really great time out here tonight! And don't forget—staaaaay fresh!"

The crowd erupted into whoops and hollers and declarations of undying love, and Callie blew them a kiss as she walked off stage. Amy and Fiona rode the wave of people out of the venue, where they stumbled their way into Fiona's car. Amy was buckling her seatbelt when Fiona reached over the console and gave her a side-hug.

"Thanks so much, Amy!" she cried. "That was so cool! Arg, all my friends at school are gonna be so jealous!"

Amy did not reply because she was focusing all of her energy on not panicking. Why was Fiona hugging her? She was not used to being hugged. She felt her face growing orange, and wondered if she should ask Fiona to stop. But would that be mean? Was this normal friendship levels of affection?

Fiona broke off before she could say anything, though, and Amy finished buckling her seatbelt, giving a halfhearted, "Yeah, no problem."

Fiona started up the car and pulled out. "Hey, wanna go hang out at my place for a bit? My parents are out eating dinner or something, so we'd have the house to ourselves."

"Uh, sure, yeah," Amy said with a shrug. Should be fun; Fiona was pretty cool. And Amy had nothing better to do.

"Sweet!"

They chatted idly about the concert and work as they drove, and Fiona made reference to a movie that Amy hadn't seen but that she simply _had_ to see, and, don't worry, Fiona had it on DVD, they could watch it as soon as they arrive.

And thus Amy found herself on Fiona's couch, watching the ending credits of _The Princess Tide._

"That was the cheesiest movie I've ever seen," Amy said.

Fiona laughed. "I know, right? Isn't it great?"

"…Yes," Amy said. "I don't understand. I feel like it should've been bad, but it was good? And like, not even in a so-bad-it's-good way. I'm so confused."

"Exactly! It's a cinematic masterpiece. I can't believe you haven't seen it before today." Fiona readjusted her position on the couch, until her head was resting on Amy's shoulder. Their tentacles brushed. "I had a really great time tonight, Amy."

This…

Felt…

Romantic.

Amy looked down at Fiona, whose cheeks were tinted with her purple ink and framed on the right by her one wavy tentacle, and remembered that night a few days before she boarded the train, in her bedroom. She remembered her friend's lips, a despicable feeling of rebellious pleasure, and her mother standing in the doorway a few seconds later, the perfect picture of disgust.

She could feel herself making the same mistake.

"I need to go," Amy said, getting up from the couch.

"W-what?" Fiona's blush died down, replaced by a look of confusion. "Is everything okay?"

Amy paused. "I'm—" Shit, what should she even say? "I didn't come over to your house so you could throw yourself onto me."

Why was her default to be such an asshole?

"What?" Fiona said again, except this time with more indignation than confusion. "You're the one who invited me to a concert. I thought—"

"You thought wrong."

Fiona let out a sigh. "Maybe you're right, then. Maybe you should leave."

And so she did. It was a long walk home to her apartment from here, but like hell was she going to ask Fiona to drive her.

She quit her job the next day.


	27. 8-3: Drifting

With DJ Octavio captured, leadership fell to his second-in-command, Vice-DJ Hacho. He was a rather bulbous Octarian, probably grown originally as an octo-bomber before scoring high enough on the leadership qualities exams to transfer into the administration team. Exams that, Zadie now noticed, were not even given to Octolings. She wondered why Octavio found it so useful to keep all the other Octolings as soldiers and technicians and laborers, and keep all the high ranking positions for Octarians. Did he trust growing from his own tentacles more than he trusted growing from the Vats? Was he scared that Octolings had the same potential he did, and could surpass him, while Octarians would be forever obedient?

Zadie had so many questions running through her mind now, it was overwhelming. She hadn't ever really had questions before the Song. But this was good. Now she knew things could be better, and while that was frustrating, it was also good.

She was sitting across from the Vice-DJ now, on the terribly uncomfortable metal chairs that they had down here. She bet the surface had comfier chairs.

"Let's get down to business, F-02-A," Hacho said, lounging in his terribly uncomfortable metal chair. "Ever since Octavio got captured, I don't know what's happened, but some of your fellow Octolings have been showing signs of insubordination."

Zadie faked a frown. "How unthinkable of them. I hope you disciplined them sufficiently."

"Of course," Hacho assured. "You won't be seeing the F-04 squad in practices for a few weeks. But anyway. I am bringing this to your attention in the hopes that top officers such as yourself and F-01-A can closely monitor your subordinates for any such behavior. In a time of crisis such as this, we need you 'lings on your best behavior even more than ever."

"Of course, Vice-DJ," Zadie said. "We must eliminate all weaknesses in order to recover Octavio and exact revenge against the Inkling menace. I shall report any observed discrepancy in behavior or ideology directly to administration." She paused. "Though, let it be noted that I have no doubts about the integrity of my squadmates."

"Yes, yes, of course. You may leave now," Hacho said, waving her out. Zadie nodded and complied, walking out of the office.

Once she was alone on the catwalks, she let out a sigh. "I don't like that guy at _all,"_ she mumbled under her breath. She couldn't wait to get out of here. What could the surface be like? It was probably full of nice smells, and comfy chairs, and you were allowed to run on the catwalks, and there were probably nice people who were friendly, instead of mean people who were jerks. She had recently arrived at the upsetting conclusion that most every Octarian she knew was a mean jerk, and she was honestly so ready to not have to deal with them anymore.

She arrived at her dorm in short order, and was greeted by 02-B—no, by Kayla. Another thing Zadie had only recently come to understand was that saying people's names instead of their titles was interesting and fun, and she didn't know why they never did it.

"Hello, Zadie. What did Hacho want?"

Zadie snorted. "He wanted me to be on the lookout for 'insubordinate behavior.' You haven't seen any recently, by chance, have you, Kayla?"

"Oh no, not me," she said, smirking. "So anyway, how's your little rebellion coming along?"

Zadie flopped onto her bed. "Marifer is on board; she said she'd talk to the rest of F-01 and to F-05. So we just gotta convince F-03, since F-04 is…" She trailed off. It went unsaid.

"And you don't think any of them will rat us out?"

"They heard the song, same as us," Zadie said, closing her eyes. "I'm feeling… confident."

* * *

_Amelia:_

_It takes great courage for me to write you this letter. I realize now that I may have acted in haste tossing you out of the house like that last year—we all make mistakes in life, and God Seifa above preaches that we should always forgive. At least, that's what our Enlightened always tells us. Is it foolish of me to hope you still attend services up there in Inkopolis?_

_Anyway: I wanted to offer you a second chance, Amy. I am giving you the benefit of the doubt and assuming that what happened that night was an honest mistake, and that you have since rectified your ways. We don't even have to speak about it ever again. Just come home, and we can return to being a family. Your father misses you, too, you know._

_Oh, and happy seventeenth birthday._

_May Seifa watch over you,_

_Mother_

Three set the letter on her desk and walked over to her weapons rack. She picked up her hero shot and ink tank, hooked everything up, walked back to her desk, and shot a thick glob of orange ink right onto the word 'Mother.' The ink seeped throughout the paper, eating away at the fiber until it dissolved into indiscernible particles. The glob of ink stopped spreading once it had reached the top of the paper, and the only legible word remaining was 'Amelia.'

Three snarled, and shot that, too.

* * *

"Hey. I want to change my battletag."

The Deca employee behind the counter—a teenage crustacean wearing an obscure band shirt and a backwards cap—nodded, typing something onto his computer. "Okay. What's your Deca ID and current battletag?"

"981945," Three rattled off. "And my tag is 'AmyNumberOne.'"

A few more click-clacks of his claws on the keys. He had impressive dexterity with those things. "Alright, found ya," the crustacean droned. "What do you wanna change it to?"

"Three."

"Like, the number, or spelled out?"

"Spelled out."

Clickity-click-clack. "Kay, you're all set. Let me just print out your new card…"

Three waited an awkward twenty seconds as he went to get the card, and slid it over to her. "There you go. Have fun."

Three took her ID and stuffed it in her shorts pocket, then unslung her Hero Shot from her back and walked into the first lobby she could find. More and more these days, she found herself wanting to be Three, not Amy. And when there was no agent work to do, all she had was turfing.

At least she was better than everybody else.

* * *

**A few months later…**

Amy's fourth job since coming to Inkopolis was as a tour guide at the P. R. Hana science museum. She'd just finished orientation and was sitting in the break room; there were ten minutes until the museum opened, so the other guides should be arriving shortly.

As if on cue, an Inkling who looked to be in his early twenties walked in. His tentacles were slicked back in a style that was… upsetting to Amy. He stopped, looked at her, and smiled.

"Oh, hey, girl. You new here?"

"…Yes," Amy said carefully.

"Dope, dope. Well, if you ever need someone to show you the ropes, just hit me up, you know?"

Amy gave him a flat look. "I'm good. I already went through training."

"Right, of course. Well, actually, I know this great place for lunch, if you wanna go out and—"

"Dude," Amy interrupted. "Slow the hell down. You don't even know my name and you already wanna fuck me?"

He just smirked. "Now who's moving too fast? Name's Danny. What's yours?"

She sighed. He'd find out eventually anyway. "Amy. Now please leave me alone."

"Aw, come on, don't be like that! You seem like—"

He was mercifully interrupted by the door, and an older, female coworker stepping into the room. "Danny, step off," she said almost immediately as she observed what was happening. "You'll scare her away."

"Buzzkill." Danny shrugged. "Well. It's an open offer."

Amy flipped him off.

* * *

**A few months later… **

After Callie had left Inkopolis to tour the country, Marie had started asking Three to lunch more frequently. Three had had conflicts with work the first couple times, but they'd finally settled on a day that worked for both of them, and so Three found herself driving to The Reef in, funnily enough, the car that the Squid Sisters had gotten her for her birthday, because they were rich and also because Marie had looked through classified military files to find her birthday. (If she'd found out Three's name or address, too, she hadn't said anything, which Three was thankful for.)

_Bomb Rush Blush_ came onto the radio as she pulled into the parking lot, and Three turned off her car as soon as she could. That song was beginning to seriously get on her nerves. And not in like an 'ooh I'm Three I hate the Squid Sisters' way. Like, legitimately. It was on _every_ station.

Three found Marie sipping a latte outside a cafe, and dropped down into the seat across from her. "Sup."

"Sup yourself," Marie said, as if 'sup' worked that way. She had her tentacles down in a braid, which looked really strange; strange enough that she didn't get recognized as often, Three supposed. The fake, lensless glasses she was wearing probably helped with that too. "You gonna get anything?"

Three shrugged, so Marie shrugged, too, and took another sip of her coffee.

"Hey, didn't you and Callie first get noticed because of some folk-singing contest?"

Marie nodded. "Yep. We were only fifteen and sixteen, too. I think we made some dedicated folk-singers pretty pissed that we swooped in and stole the competition."

"Probably not as pissed as they are this year," Three said. "Apparently some aspiring singer—I think she's a couple years younger than you guys, like, twenty-two or something? I don't know, it was in the morning paper, and you know how I am in the morning."

"Not really," Marie said. "But I can imagine."

"Whatever. Point is, this girl sung so loud she brought the whole venue down. Her parents are gonna have to pay to rebuild it."

"That's insane," Marie said, with exactly the same tone as she would've used to say 'huh.' "I mean, you always hear stories of squids with voices loud enough to cause damage, but without a Killer Wail?"

"I mean, presumably she had a microphone," Three said.

"Still though," Marie said. "It kind of makes me glad that they're switching out the specials. I don't want to go deaf because some banshee used a Wail point blank."

"Ugh, but it's gonna be such a hassle," Three groaned. "This new 'splashdown' thing that they're giving the hero shot replica seems so easy to dodge. And I'm gonna have to go to Sheldon to get the new special clip, since I don't actually use a replica, and that means I'm gonna have to hear all of _his_ opinions on the changes, and…" Three shuddered.

Marie gave a laugh. "Talk about people you don't want to give a Killer Wail to, right?"

"Exactly," Three said, chuckling a bit.

Marie looked down at her coffee. She'd taken off the lid and was swirling it around, watching the trails of creamer spiral into homogeny with the rest of the drink. "Hey, Three? Can I vent to you for a hot minute?"

"Uhhhhh." Three gulped. "I… am… the first person you came to?"

"You're the only person I _can_ come to," Marie said with a sigh. "I don't have a ton of friends, Three. Not… real ones, anyways. And I like it that way, but it means that sometimes I have to rely on a teenager for emotional support."

"But what about Callie?" Three asked. Marie just gave her a _look,_ and suddenly Three understood. "Oh. This is _about_ Callie, isn't it."

"Yeah." She swirled her coffee some more. "I don't know, maybe I'm just jealous that her solo career's going so much better than mine, but I feel like she's leaving me behind."

"That doesn't seem like something she'd do," Three said.

"I don't think it's intentional or anything," Marie said. "But, it's like… ugh. She's so busy all the time now that we can't even go get dinner with each other. I mean, we still live together, but even then she's always talking about work. She even asked me to cover a mission for her; a mission! She's never done that before."

"Well if it's not intentional, maybe just talk to her?"

"But then she'd feel bad," Marie said.

"Is that…" Three paused. "Is that not the point? She feels bad, so she starts considering your feelings more or whatever?"

"No, Three, that's not the point," Marie said, rolling her eyes. "Knowing Callie, she'd gladly compromise her career if she knew how I was feeling, and I don't want that. She _deserves_ all the success she's seeing."

"So then… Don't do anything?"

"You know, Three, you're not very good at this."

"I do know, actually," Three said, frowning. "And I'm trying my best, asshole."

Marie smiled. "Yeah. Thanks."

"Whatever."

"…I don't know," Marie said after a short spell of silence. "I guess I'm just afraid we're going to start drifting apart. We've been so close for so long, and she's the only person I can really, truly trust, you know? I was super shy and insecure growing up. I had to go through a lot of tough changes. But Callie was always there to support me. So the thought of her not being a constant in my life is… scary. But she doesn't seem to feel the same about—about me." Her voice grew quieter at the end, and she turned her head away.

"I…" Three sucked in a breath. Was… was she crying? Shit. Shit! Three didn't know what to do with a crying person!

"I didn't even want to go s-solo in the first place!" Marie exclaimed, desperately wiping at her eyes. Oh, jeez, that sure was a lot of bottled up emotions coming out of her right now. "It was all her stupid i—_hic_—idea. What was wr-wrong with what we had? Was she not happy or something? I don't—I don't under_stand!"_

"Wait, uh, wait!" Three said, leaning forward and waving her hands. "Don't cry! I don't know how to handle that!"

Marie stopped ranting, hiccuped, and looked up at Three. Then she began laughing. It wasn't a very pretty laugh—since she was still crying, it was full of cracks and mucus, but it was definitely laughing.

"Whaaaaat is going on," Three said carefully.

"You—" Marie took a deep breath. "You're a great friend, Three. Really."

"Um." Three blinked. "Thanks?"

"Yeah." Marie let out a final chuckle, then threw back her coffee, taking a couple fat gulps before setting it back on the table with an appreciative 'ah.'

"Wasn't that still hot?" Three asked.

"Oh, burning," Marie said. "But I hate crying in public and I needed to jolt myself out of my funk. So, anyway, what's up with you?"

Three raised an eyebrow. "Are we just gonna fucking move onto—"

"Yep. This never happened. Got it?"

"Uh, got it."

"Cool. So what's up with you?"

Three shook her head as they eased back into small talk. Marie totally owed her one after that.

* * *

Three was walking back to her car from the cafe and thinking about her talk with Marie when she froze on the spot, staring at the Inkling that was walking out of a nearby clothing store.

Fiona.

Immediately, Three's hearts began pounding, and she hated it. She hated Fiona's stupid, pretty face, and her dumb, awful, perfectly shaped hips, but she hated herself, most importantly, for wanting to kiss that face, and hold those hips.

She needed to run.

Run, run, run.

Get on the train and run, run away to the big city where no one knows your name—

She raced to the safety of her car, pulled out her phone, and texted Danny.

**Amy: **Hey. You doing anything Tuesday night?


	28. 8-4: The Mistake

Three held her chin in one hand and her fork in the other, picking absentmindedly at her food. It wasn't very good food, but at least she wasn't paying for it.

She was currently thinking about seals, and how dumb they were. They were basically giant piles of fat with stubby little flippers. What did they ever do to deserve their place in the world? What drove them? Did seals even know how sad and miserable they were, or did they plod along through their pitiful lives in naive compliance until the day their flesh began rotting?

"So, what do you like to do in your spare time?" Danny asked from across the table.

While Three put her edgy metaphor to rest, Amy put on a smile. "Oh, well, I turf a lot."

"Yeah?"

"Mhmm. I've never met someone better than me."

"Yeah, its the same way for me, but with life in general," Danny said, smirking and throwing in a wink. He must have thought he was very charming; Three groaned internally, and Amy gave a polite giggle.

God. What was she even doing?

The rest of the date continued in a haze, and before she knew it, she was standing outside the restaurant, Danny's hand wrapped around her waist like a noose. "Well, that was fun, right, Amy?"

"Y-yeah."

"See you later, kay?"

"Mhmm."

Danny leaned down and planted his lips on Amy's, and she froze up. Just as suddenly as he had started, he stopped, giving her a mock salute as he took off. Amy, stunned, could only bring a trembling hand up to her lips.

What was she doing? What was she doing? What was she even _fucking _doing? Stupid. _Stupid. _

"Miss, are you okay?"

Amy looked up to see an older inkling woman looking at her with concern. "You've been standing there for quite some time now."

Three set her jaw and wiped at her eyes. "Mind your business, hag." She turned on her heel and stalked off towards her car; she needed to go for a good, long turfing session.

* * *

**A few months later...**

Marina was typing away, eyes glued to her monitor, when she heard someone cough from behind her. "Ahem."

She quickly switched tabs. She turned her head to see who it was, and then immediately got up to stand at attention. "Vice-DJ Hacho, sir. How may I be of service?"

"I was just coming around to see how the restorations were coming on the Great Octoweapons. We need to be at our full power before reengaging with Inkopolis."

"Of course," Marina said. "The restorations are coming slower than I'd like, but they're getting there. Right now, I only have the Octostomp back to functionality. I even gave it an ink-proof jacket."

And if she put an easily-destructible clasp right on the thing's face, well, that was no concern of Hacho's.

"Well, hurry it up, 01-A. We're running out of time. Didn't you build these things in the first place?"

"I _improved_ upon them," Marina corrected. "Rebuilding them from whatever scrap was left behind when Agent 3 made them blow is a lot harder than reinforcing their casing or upgrading some joints."

Hacho huffed. "Whatever. Keep me posted on your progress."

"Of course."

He turned around and walked off. Marina waited a few moments, then turned back to her computer. "He's so bossy." She typed a bit more, then hit a button. The lights flickered and died, and she heard the sound of a hundred machines all shut down at once as the base lost power. "I'll keep you posted from the surface. How's that sound, Hacho?"

Without wasting another second, she got up and dashed through the darkness.

* * *

**One week later**

Pearl liked to go to Mt. Nantai to scream.

It wasn't weird, though. See, her voice was so fucking dope that it could actually cause physical damage. And without a Killer Wail to concentrate it, that power wasn't converted into ink. Therefore, whenever she wanted to practice her fuckin' tight superpower of screaming hard enough to bring down folk-singing contest venues, she came here, to Mt. Nantai, where she could holler as loud as she wanted without inconveniencing anyone.

But she wasn't alone this time. There was some… country bumpkin, or something, sitting here on the mountain. She had weird-looking tentacles with suckers on the outside, and there was something wrong with her eyes. Also, were those claws?

Hmm. She might be slightly weirder than a country bumpkin. But only slightly.

"Uh, hi?" Pearl asked.

The girl turned. "Oh! Hello! You're the girl who comes here to scream and sing, right?" She spoke with an accent that Pearl had never heard before, but her Inklish seemed perfect. "I heard you last time you came. I've been waiting for you."

That was… slightly creepy. "For a week?"

"Yes," she said. "Sorry, I'm… new here. Do you think you could help me? I've never been to Inkopolis before, and I'm afraid to go in by myself."

"Well, jeez," Pearl said. "I guess? Who are you, exactly?"

"I am called…" she trailed off and laughed. Pearl could tell that it wasn't a very happy laugh. "My _name_ is Marina. Let's not worry about what I'm called."

"Oooookay," Pearl said. This was strange. Part of her was saying that she should ignore the weird girl that waited on a mountain for a week just so that Pearl could show her around town, but that was the part of her that Pearl very rarely listened to. The much more fun part of her was saying, why the fuck not? "Nice to meet you, Marina. I'm Pearl! I make music."

"Me too!" Marina exclaimed, breaking into a grin. "We should start a band. That's what musicians do in Inkopolis, right? Start bands? I read that somewhere, I'm sure of it."

"Uh, yeah, sure," Pearl said, beginning to walk back down the mountain. "It'll be totally off the hook."

"Off the hook?" Marina asked. "I'm not familiar with the idiom."

"The what now?"

"The expression. The phrase. The metaphor. I'm sorry, I don't really know which words are colloquial."

"Don't sweat it," Pearl said with a shrug. "I don't really know words in general, so you've got one up on me. And, uh, off the hook basically means, like, cool. Awesome. Fresh."

Marina smiled softly. Pearl's incredibly gay brain appreciated how her face looked in that moment.

"Off the hook," Marina murmured to herself. "Yes. Our band will be off the hook."

* * *

Callie slunk her way into the doorway to Marie's bedroom. Marie was laying there on her bed, earbuds in, Squidstagram up. She was quietly humming some tune that Callie didn't recognize, and didn't seem to notice her.

"Hey, Marie, can I talk to you?"

Marie turned her head and pulled out her earbuds, sitting up a bit straighter against her pillows. "Wait, Callie? Aren't you supposed to be doing a commercial right now or something?"

"No, I, uh…" She rubbed at her arm. "I canceled that."

"Oh." Marie blinked. "Well, uh, what's up?"

Callie sighed. "I wanted to apologize. I've been a really bad sister."

"We're cousins."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do," Marie said, sighing and swinging her feet over the side of the bed, looking Callie in the eye. "And, yeah, you kind of have. But it's okay."

"I don't know if it is."

"You're finally getting really big, Callie," Marie said. "That's been your dream since we were kids, and it's happening. You're an A-list celebrity now. So it's okay."

"I…" Callie frowned, rubbing at her elbow. "Well, for starters, I shouldn't sacrifice my relationship with you for fame. That's screwed up." Marie didn't say anything, so she continued. "And secondly, I don't… think this is what I want anymore. To be in the public eye all the time."

"We kind of were already."

"Yeah, but not like _this,"_ Callie said, throwing herself down into Marie's desk chair and fidgeting with her hands. "It's exhausting, Marie. And not being able to spend time with people I care about is just making it more exhausting."

"Well. Thanks for the apology," Marie said. "What are you going to do?"

"I need to clear my head, big time," Callie said. "And I also really need to get out of the spotlight. So I talked with Gramps, and I'm going to go do some long-term recon out in the Octo territory."

"Oh, okay." Marie's expression would be unreadable to anybody else, but Callie could tell she was disappointed.

"It won't be for too long," Callie assured. "Just enough time that the press moves on to the next thing, you know? And once I'm back, I _promise_ that we'll spend more time together."

"Alright," Marie said, breaking into a soft smile. "I understand."

"Oh, one last thing; could you do me a favor while I'm gone and check in with Three?"

"With Three?"

"Yeah," Callie said. "She was there when I was talking with Gramps about this, and she seemed really out of it. Have you seen her?"

"Not lately, no," Marie said, her brow creasing with worry. "Not… not in a while."

"Well, I'm worried about her," Callie confessed. "She was still grumpy and all, but it was… different. Like, you know how when she insults someone, she's really creative with it? Or how she always makes the biggest fusses over the pettiest things? All of that was gone, and she was just acting… cold." She sighed. "I almost didn't want to leave just for that…"

"Hey, don't worry about it," Marie assured. "I'll handle Three. You do whatever you need to do to get your head on straight. Okay?"

Callie nodded, smiling. "Okay."

She walked forward and pulled Marie into a hug; for once, Marie didn't complain.

* * *

"_I'm fine,"_ Three hissed through the phone. _"What's this all about?"_

"I—well—" Marie sighed. "Look, Callie said you didn't seem like yourself when you met about her recon mission. I'm just checking in to make sure you're doing okay."

There was a long silence, which Marie spent restlessly twirling a pen in her free hand. Eventually, Three simply responded, _"I said I'm fine."_

"Right," Marie said. "You sure did say that."

"_Great,"_ she snapped. _"Glad we're on the same page."_

"You can always talk to me, you know. Whenever you need to. It's okay to come to others for help sometimes, Three."

"…_Leave me alone, Marie."_

The line clicked dead.

* * *

**A few months later… **

The first thing Three noticed about Danny's bedroom was that he had a terrible taste in movies, judging by the posters on the walls. The second thing Three noticed about Danny's bedroom was the Callie body pillow, which made her skin crawl for so, so many reasons.

"Man, work was the worst today, right?" he asked.

"Yeah," Three said. "Pretty shitty day."

"So many out-of-towners." He shook his head, flopping down on his bed. "Were they asking you dumb questions too?"

"Oh, all over the place," Three said. "It made me want to rip my tentacles out."

"Yo, I feel that so hard." He paused for a moment. "So, there's a special reason I invited you over, you know?"

Three raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"You know how you turned eighteen last week?"

"Yeah? What about it? You already gave me a present." It had been a necklace. Three had yet to wear it.

"Yeah, but… Well, see, that means we can… you know. You're not underage, Amy."

"O-oh," Amy said. A black void was slowly closing in around her. "I guess it does mean that."

Danny leaned back on the bed in a more… exhibitory manner. He reached for the button on his jeans.

Amy took a step backwards. She must not have been able to keep up her neutral expression, because Danny stopped suddenly, shooting her a worried look. "Hey, you good?"

Why did he care? Why did he care _now?_

Probably because he didn't want to lose his _chance._

"I—it's—" Three panicked. "I'm gay!"

"What?"

"NO!" Three screamed. "Sorry, I just—URG! FUCK YOU! PERV!"

"What?!" Danny's eyebrows tilted down. "Amy, what's your deal?!"

She turned and ran.

* * *

Three slammed open the apartment door, causing Marie, who was reading a magazine on her couch, to yelp and nearly tumble off.

"Hey, Marie?"

Marie managed to pull herself back up into a sitting position, dropping her magazine in her lap. "Hey, Three. Uh. What's going on?"

"You know how I let you cry all over me about Callie that one time?"

"…Yes?"

"I need you to return the favor."

Marie swung her legs off the side of the couch and stood up, looking at Three with unconcealed worry. "Three, what happened?"

"I turned eighteen last week. And so me and my boyfriend are legal now. And he s-started to, you know, and I said—and Marie, I shouldn't—I shouldn't have… I should—shouldn't have done any of this! _GRRAH,_ why am I s-so _BROKEN?_"

Three exploded into tears, for the first time since a year and a half ago when she'd become homeless overnight. Crying wasn't her thing. But her world felt like hell, and she didn't think she'd ever felt like more of a pile of garbage in her life, so, goddammit, she could bawl all she wanted right now.

Marie brought her into a hug and let her sob into her shirt, silent and soothing. Three wasn't sure how long she stayed standing there, but by the end of it, her legs were starting to hurt. Marie was kind enough to let Three crash on Callie's bed that night, and Three tried her best not to dream.


	29. 8-5: Revolution's Fall

Marina adjusted her headphones, listening to the waveform change as she slid the little dials up and down. This was just like engineering—except way more fun! It was only her first week on the surface, but it was so much better than she could have ever imagined. It had only been a couple months so far, but it had been the best couple months of her life.

Especially the food. Pearl had taken her to all sorts of wonderful restaurants, and each new meal she tried seemed to be even more wondrous than the last. She sighed; Pearl really was just the best. Waiting for that week on the mountain had totally been worth it.

Speaking of Pearl, her head poked into the doorframe just then, her little tentacles swaying to one side. "Yo, Marina. I'm gonna run out for groceries. You need anything?"

Marina pursed her lips. "Could I have more of those little chewy gelatin things?"

"You mean gummies?"

"Yes," she affirmed, absentmindedly licking her lips.

Pearl laughed. "Sure thing! So, you enjoying the synth?"

"So much!" Marina exclaimed. "Thank you for getting it for me. The technology's a little retro compared to what we have down in the Domes, but I like it. I don't think I want anything too similar to what the DJ uses anyway. Too many bad memories."

"Girl, the more you talk about your hometown, the more confused I get. Sounds weird as shit." She shook her head. "Well, anyway, I'm off. Have fun!"

"You too!" Marina called.

She turned back to the synth, and got lost in the music. She was in the middle of humming a small melody to herself under her breath when the door creaked open once again.

"Pearl? Did you forget your keys again? I told you, if you—"

Marina choked on her next word. That wasn't Pearl.

The inkling in front of her was short with long, untended orange tentacles, bags under her intense eyes, and tensed muscles that looked ready to spring at the drop of a feather.

She shut the door behind her with an ominous thunk. "Hey. New in town?"

Marina almost hadn't recognized her without the jacket and headphones, but she knew that face. Every Octoling from here to the Ravine knew that face. She was dead. She was dead, she was dead, she was so dead, dead, dead.

"I hope you didn't think," Agent 3 began, "that we wouldn't notice an Octoling living right here in the city."

"Please," Marina breathed. "I—I'm not with them anymore. I'm not here to spy. I'm just—I just want to be happy."

Agent 3 snorted. "Yeah? Well, despite the good press, running away to Inkopolis doesn't automatically make your problems go away." She crossed her arms, leaning against the door, blocking the handle with her body. "Look. We have no reason to trust you, but Captain Cuttlefish decided to give you the benefit of the doubt. All you have to do is show up and tell us what you know, and why you're here, and then you can return to your regularly scheduled"—she brought her fingers up into air quotes—"'happiness.' Got it?"

"I just—" Marina took a deep breath. "Okay. Fine. But after that, we're done. I'm over that life, and I don't want to spend time thinking about the past."

"HA!" Agent 3's face contorted into a crazed grin. "Yeah, I've been there. See how far that gets you."

Marina bit her lip. Now that she got a good look at her, Marina didn't really know what to think. She had expected her to be… older. "Hey, are… are you okay?"

The grin vanished. "Ask me again and find out."

Marina scooted back in her chair. "R-right. Sorry I asked."

"You should be." Agent 3 threw her a folded up piece of paper. It hit her in the chest with a soft _pap,_ then tumbled down into her lap. "That has instructions on the meeting. Be there." Marina was expecting an 'or else' to come out next, but the girl just left without another word, the door latching closed behind her.

Marina finally let out her breath. This was fine. She'd just… get this over with, hope they didn't judge her guilty or whatever, and then forget about all of this, and just live happily with Pearl in her cute little huge house.

With a sigh, Marina unfolded the paper.

**Tentakeel Outpost**, it read, in a crude handwriting. **Small cabin. Be there in 5. Come alone.**

"Five?" Marina uttered. "Like. Minutes?"

She looked at the clock. _Nyuze jaskenei._

* * *

Three plopped herself down into one of the chairs inside the cabin. Cap'n Cuttlefish was resting in the rocking chair in the corner, but Marie's eyes flashed over to her. Three couldn't see her mouth behind the face mask, but she didn't really need to at this point.

"I thought you were going to bring her here," Marie said.

Three grunted. "She'll come."

Marie's eyes flicked to the door, to her grandfather, and then back to Three. "Hey. You doing alright?"

"What makes you think—" Three broke off, then looked away, crossing her arms. "Not really."

"How are things with…?"

"I broke up with him. Through text."

"Oh," Marie said. "Well if it means anything, I… think you made the right choice."

Three massaged her eye sockets. "I don't fucking know, Marie. I'm just so confused."

A knock at the door cut the conversation short. Cuttlefish called for them to come in, and the Octoling from earlier stepped into the cabin, nervously running a hand down her tentacles. "Uh. Hi."

"Sup," Marie said.

"I… understand you have some questions to ask me?" she said.

"Indeed," Cuttlefish said, leaning forward on his cane. "Here's one for you: want a granola bar?" He pulled one out of a nearby box and offered it to the Octoling.

"Um." She squinted. "Is that some kind of nutrient block?"

"It's shit is what it is," Three said.

"Kids these days," Cuttlefish said, shaking his head and sliding the bar into his pocket. "Well, anyways, I'm Craig Cuttlefish. Pleasure to meet you."

He offered up his hand. The Octoling looked confused, and eventually Cuttlefish put it away, instead asking, "What's your name?"

"…Marina."

"A lovely name," he said. "What brings you to Inkopolis?"

"I ran away," Marina said, after a bit. "Once the Calamari Inkantation broke our hypnosis, we knew we needed to get out. I… happened to be the first."

"So," Marie said. "Got any juicy Octarian secrets to spill?"

"Well, I was in charge of rebuilding the Great Octoweapons," Marina said. "So I can tell you the only one you'll have to worry about is the Octostomp. All the others are still broken beyond repair."

"Woah," Marie said. "You were pretty high-ranking, then, right?"

She nodded. "For an Octoling, yeah. I was the head engineer."

"So do you know what their plan is?" Three asked.

Marina raised an eyebrow. "Their plan?"

"Yeah, you know," Three said, waving her hand around vaguely. "Octavio's next big plan. For getting revenge or whatever."

"Oh, right, that." Marina shrugged. "Probably just the same thing as before, if I'm being honest with you; he's not particularly creative. Though, he was sending a bunch of troops over to Octo Ravine—there have been reports of Octolings going missing in that region." She paused. "That's not you guys, though, right?"

"Nope," Marie said. "The only agent we have out in the field right now is scouting out the Canyon. That's where you guys relocated, if I'm not mistaken?"

Marina nodded.

"Perhaps we should do some investigating of our own," Cuttlefish said, scratching at his beard. "It's been a while since I've been out to see the Ravine. It's a beautiful stretch of land."

"I'll go with you," Three said immediately.

"Oh, you don't have to," Craig said. "I know you've got work here and such, and despite how I may look, I can handle myself alright."

"But—" Three clenched her fist. "Let me go with you. I… need to get out of Inkopolis for a while."

"Well, if you say so!" Cuttlefish shrugged and rocked back in his chair. "Are you good holding down the fort, Agent 2?"

"Sure thing," Marie said.

"Great." Three stood up. "Hey, I gotta go. I'll catch you guys later."

"Three, we're in the middle of interviewing an escaped Octoling," Marie said. "You're just going to leave?"

"Yes," Three said, walking out of the cabin and closing the door behind her.

* * *

**A few weeks later**

Zadie tapped one claw restlessly against the barrel of her Octoshot. She was gathered with her team, as well as many of the other front-ops squads, and a whole splattalion of Octarian troops, outside the kettle that led to Tentakeel Outpost. Hacho was at the front, standing right before the grate.

"Alright, troops," he said. "This is it. Our goal is to recover the DJ, and capture any of those god-forsaken Inklings that try to stop us, while the B team takes the Great Zapfish. Hopefully we can split their forces, and finally achieve victory in the name of the Octarian Empire. Any questions?" An Octotrooper raised its hand. "Yes, you."

"Actually, sir, we're not an Empire; that would require—"

_Splat._

"Any other questions? No? Good. Let's get going, then."

He started ushering all the Octarians through the grate as fast as they could squeeze through. Zadie and her squad followed right after F-01, popping out in the middle of Tentakeel Outpost. She looked up ahead, and saw that the frontline troopers were getting mowed down in great columns from a series of powerful charger bursts. She squinted, and saw a lone Inkling standing at the border between the Canyon and Inkopolis territory, Hero Charger in hand.

"Idiots!" Hacho cried from behind them. "Get her!"

With a series of blasts, Agent 2 splatted every Octosniper that they had managed to assemble, then started digging into the Octocopters. Hacho let out a frustrated growl and rushed forward, hacking up a splat bomb and launching it at Agent 2. She swam out of the way, but then an Octo Commander started firing on her; she blew it up with a stored shot, but the calm only lasted a second before she was weaving in between an array of slow-moving trooper shots. She was fighting admirably, but she was no Agent 3—Zadie couldn't see her winning this fight. It was time to step in.

With a bit of concentration, Zadie shifted her ink color across the spectrum to a neon green, then lifted her gun to the back of the Twintacle shield trooper in front of her.

_Splat._

Then shouting.

As a wave of green spread across the tentacles of the Octoling regiment, the field descended into chaos. Shots were being fired every which way, the ground was coated in multicolored ink, and cries of pain rang out as troops splatted left and right.

Not long after the real battle had started, Hacho managed to catch Zadie's eye. "Traitor!" he called, eyes bloodshot. "Traitors, all of you! How could you do this to your—"

Zadie shot him in the face, and he went up in ink.

The battle raged for what felt like hours to Zadie, hyped up on adrenaline as she was. Ink from both sides coated her clothes, making them feel like weights, but she kept shooting. She had no idea which side was winning, but Agent 2 had dropped out a few minutes ago, which probably either meant she'd left the oven on, or decided to cut her losses and get out before they lost and she was captured.

Or, maybe, she'd seen Octavio break out of his snowglobe, and had decided to run for it. This thought popped into Zadie's head as she looked up at the DJ, towering over a battlefield that had suddenly gone quiet, brushing shards of glass from his shoulders. She hadn't seen him take this form in forever—she had forgotten how intimidating it was.

"Alright," he said, cracking his knuckles. "Show's over."

His fist shot out, and Zadie cursed.

* * *

Marie, hiding in the branches of a tree far away from the cabin, watched through the scope of her charger as the Octarians flowed back into the kettles, one after another, dragging the unconscious green-tentacled Octolings after them. Octavio was the last to leave, giving the Outpost a final once-over before transforming into his octopus form and slipping through the grate.

Marie let out a breath, and superjumped back to the cabin. She threw open the door and rushed inside, running up to the radio fixture against the wall. She adjusted the settings as fast as she could, then pressed the talk button.

"Callie! Callie, can you hear me?"

Static.

"Callie! This is urgent!"

Static.

"GRAH!" Marie banged a fist against Gramps' rocking chair, switching frequencies with her other hand. "Three! Three, come in! Is Gramps with you?"

Static.

"Three?" She changed frequencies. "Callie? Anyone? Hello? Please!"

Dammit! What had happened to them? Where were they?

What was she supposed to do?

Tears poking at the corners of her eyes, she turned back to the radio. "Callie? Can you hear me? Three? Gramps? Are you there? Please, I…" Her voice broke. "I can't do this alone…"

She stayed there at the radio well past the time the sun rose again in the morning, letting the static keep her company.

* * *

Zadie struggled against her bonds, but no matter what she did, she couldn't escape from the ropes holding her to the cold, metal chair. Not even turning into her octopus form would let her slip out; all she could do was sit and await her fate.

As if on cue, the door to the cell opened, and DJ Octavio himself floated into the room, his form supported by a small hovercraft. Zadie never understood why he was usually so averse to walking around in his humanoid form—maybe the doorways were too short? Who knows.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" he said, chuckling to himself. "Just kidding. I know exactly what we have here: a traitor!"

Zadie glared at him, but refused to say anything.

"Anyway, traitor, check out these new digs." He held up a pair of sunglasses with LED lights in them, pulsing in a rhythmic pattern. Zadie couldn't help but feel her eyes attracted to them; it was hard to look away. "Made 'em just for you! Well, not really, actually, but whatever. They're a brand new invention of mine—the hypnoshades! Aren't they sweet?"

Zadie glared some more.

"I can see they've awed you into silence," Octavio said. "Understandable. They are pretty rad. So rad, in fact, that they even managed to hypnotize Agent 1!" He cackled. "Callie Cuttlefish, annoying pop singer extraordinaire, on the side of the Octarians! Completely under my control! I have to say, I really outdid myself with these babies."

Just then, the door slammed open, and Agent 1 appeared, a separate pair of hypnoshades over her eyes. "Hey, DJ Octavi-bro!" she called. "You fellas got any pizza down here?" She perked up when she noticed Zadie. "Oh, hey, I'm Callie. Don't think we've met."

"…Hey," Zadie said.

DJ Octavio, looking like he was about to combust, let out a deep sigh that transformed into a low growl about halfway through. "No, Callie, we don't have pizza down here."

"Wack. Well, anyway, could you tell the electrical team that I'm going to need them to divert some more power to the east wing? I just set up the fairy lights but they're hella not working."

"No!" Octavio fumed. "I am in the middle of something!"

"What? Come on, dude!" Agent 1 protested. She pulled up the side of her shirt, and pointed to a tattoo of an octopus right below her rib cage. "I even put on this gnarly temporary tat to symbolize our everlasting and unbreakably strong yet purely platonic bond, and you're gonna sideline me like this?"

"Go AWAY!" he roared, flinging his tentacles in the air. "Do not bother me unless I call for you _specifically!"_

Agent 1 rolled her eyes. "Jeez, you're really cramping my vibe here, man. Whatever, I'll just go steal a baby zapfish or something for the lights. Catch you on the flippity flip."

She left. Zadie turned to Octavio. "Completely under your control, huh?"

"She—listen," Octavio grumbled. "Inklings are more naturally resistant to mind control. But the good news is that you"—he poked a tentacle against her chest—"are not an Inkling. If these shades are powerful enough to switch even an Inkling's loyalties, after a couple days wearing them, it won't even matter if you rebellious little Octolings remove them. Hell, not even the Calamari Inkantation would save you! Unless they make some new, spicier version of the song, but that seems unlikely. So, anyway, do you have any last words?"

"You're a jerk," Zadie said.

Octavio frowned. "Rude."

He slipped the shades onto her eyes, and music and lights filled her head.

* * *

Lynn stormed out of Deca Towers, hands shoved into the pockets of her hoodie. She trudged through the Square, sneakers tapping against the concrete. Then, she heard a series of sprinting footfalls behind her, and turned to see Meagan running up after her.

"Wait, Lynn!" she called.

She stopped, and turned. "What?"

"Look, I know Ricky can be… difficult."

"Mmhmm. _Difficult."_

Meagan hardened her glare. "He's a btich, alright! But are you seriously cancelling practice over this?"

"I just—" Lynn sighed. "I just can't deal with this today."

"Is this about how we're between sponsors?" Meagan asked.

"'Between' would imply we're guaranteed to get another one," Lynn said, then shook her head. "Sorry. I'm okay, just stressed, and Ricky's not helping. I need a break. You guys should keep practicing if you're up for it."

Meagan frowned. "You sure? I'm just worried that if you walk away after a fight like that, it'll come up again down the road. Shouldn't you sort things with him now?"

"Not right now," Lynn said, turning back away. "I think I'd just blow up at him again."

"…Right." Meagan sighed. "This sucks. We used to all be such great friends."

"It's one fight," Lynn said. "We'll work through it. I'll see you tomorrow."

Meagan nodded. "Right."

She left back towards the Tower, while Lynn continued on towards her apartment. She just needed something to take her mind off this; she never knew running a pro turfing team could get so _stressful._

"Psst! Hey, kid!"

Lynn turned. An inkling woman wearing an elaborate kimono and twirling a large umbrella was standing on top of what _appeared _to be a sewer grate.

"Follow me!" she whispered, then turned into a squid and slipped through the grate.

What the heck?

Well. Okay.

Hmm.

After taking a few moments to process what had just happened, Lynn shook her head. Who even was that? Did she really think that Lynn was going to jump through a sewer grate just because she was mysterious and had told Lynn to follow her?

Well she was right.

Lynn flopped out of the grate and landed on a rocky outcropping. There were some trees and flaglines around, as well as caution tape strung up between weird metal antenne. The squid she'd followed was standing a few yards in front of her, her umbrella resting over one shoulder, her back to Lynn.

"Hmm…" she said, before turning around dramatically. "Thank you for coming. When I saw you wandering around Inkopolis, I knew you were the one."

Lynn raised an eyebrow. "You did, huh?"

"Yes," she said, unconvincingly. "Now, I understand you may be a little bit starstruck, but I need you to get over it."

Lynn narrowed her eyes. She… did look _kinda_ familiar…

"Wait." The woman frowned. "Do you not recognize me?"

"Don't tell me," Lynn said, holding up a finger. "It's on the tip of my tongue."

She stared for a few more seconds as the unidentified squid looked around awkwardly. "…Look, this is cute and all, but this is a time-sensitive issue, and—"

"The news!" Lynn said snapping her fingers. "You used to be an Inkopolis News anchor, like, a year ago. I wanna say… Callie?"

"Marie," she said flatly.

"Right." Lynn shrugged. "Well, it was fifty-fifty. So, why are we here?"

"I want you to steal the Great Zapfish back from the Octarians."

Lynn blinked. "…Excuse me? The Octarians stole the Great Zapfish?" She paused. "The Octarians are _real?"_

"Yes, and you're going to steal it back from them. You're Agent 4 now," Marie said, turning around and walking towards a small shack at the edge of the clearing. "Come on, let me get you some gear."

"Wait, are you serious?"

Marie turned to stare at her over her shoulder. "Deathly. The fate of Inkopolis rests on your shoulders. Don't worry, we'll pay you too."

Lynn threw a glance backwards at the grate that led back to Inkopolis. "What if I… say no?"

"Please."

Lynn's head whipped back around, to see Marie giving her a look that held a cocktail of emotions. Fear, pain, anxiety, exhaustion, and just the tiniest bit of hope.

"Please help me," she said, just loud enough for Lynn to hear.

Well, what the hell. She had a few days to kill before their next practice; she might as well spend it training. She was sure these Octarians would be able to put up a challenge.

Lynn smiled. "Well. Since you asked so nicely."

Marie visibly relaxed. "Thank you. Let me go get your equipment."

"Oh! Do I get a grappling hook? Like… an inkhook?!"

"No."

"What about a pen that's secretly a bomb?"

"You already have bombs. Several kinds."

"Yeah, but they're not _secret."_

"You're not getting a pen bomb."

"Okay, fine. What about those cool giant stamp specials that I hear are being tested for competitive viability? Can I have one of those?"

Marie let out a sigh. "And to think I complained about how _little_ Agent 3 talked."

She opened the door to the small cabin and stepped inside; giggling to herself, Lynn followed after her.

* * *

"You think that's it?" Three asked, looking over the ridge they were hiding behind.

"Well…" the Captain sighed. "It's something, all right."

They were deep inside Octo Ravine by now; they'd combed through several Octarian outposts, digging deeper and deeper until they were so far below sea level that Three's headphones couldn't even find the signal back to Tentakeel. They'd gone staticky on her a couple days ago, but she had to hope that it wasn't because Marie was trying to contact her. She had enough to worry about down here.

Such as, for example, the large, metal wall that was half-melded into the stone of the caverns. It almost looked as if whatever this building was had been here for ages, and the Ravine had grown around it. The sleek metal stood out against the jagged rocks, and Three's eyes were drawn to a small circular landing that connected to the side of the building. A metal door with a keypad broke the smoothness of the steel.

"I'm gonna check it out," Three said.

Cap'n nodded. "Be careful."

Three dropped down from their hiding spot onto the metal landing with a _clank,_ and began walking towards the door. Once she was in the center of the circle, however, she heard something hiss.

Methodically, the agent raised her weapon, cape and green tentacles whipping in the cavern's winds.

An elite Octoling dove out from behind a small stack of crates. She was tall, with wavy tentacles that framed her face. She had the standard-issue Octogoggles, which distorted a pair of vengeful, irate eyes. She hissed at Three again; jeez, whoever this was, she _really_ wasn't a big fan of Three's.

Three jumped forward, and the Octoling began shooting, but Three moved faster than her ink did. They ran and ducked and rolled and shot, but it was clear who was winning this fight. The Octoling cursed, but only seemed to look more determined for it; Three decided it was time to end this before she pulled anything funny.

Popping her canned Splashdown, Three jumped up into the air and came down with an explosion of ink. The Octoling jumped back; she managed to avoid the blast radius, but she landed hard on her back. Three jumped onto her, pinned her down with one arm, and, following the mechanical motions she'd gone through against Octarians time and time again, pressed the shooter to her neck.

She hesitated. Up close, she actually looked kind of pretty wait, wait, hold up, what the hell are you _thinking,_ Amy? It doesn't matter _how_ pretty she is or isn't, she's trying to _kill you._

The Octoling let out a sneer and struggled, but there was nothing she could do. But then, just before Three could pull the trigger, something hard rammed into her side. As she flipped helplessly over the landing's railing, she briefly caught sight of a figure in a grey hazmat suit, who reached down and grabbed the still-prone Octoling. Three didn't catch what happened next, as that was the moment her body slammed into a pipe jutting out the side of the cavern, which knocked the lights right out of her, leaving her to tumble down toward the bottom of the pit. As her vision faded, she could at least be thankful that she'd be unconscious for the impact.


	30. 8-6: Terrors in the Dark

**About a week later**

"Three, come in," Marie said into the radio. "Come in, Three. Are you there? Hello?"

Static.

She sighed and walked out of the cabin. Callie was sitting on the bench with Four, wearing her favorite beanie and kicking her legs back and forth. "Anything?"

Marie shook her head. "It's been days since they set out. I'm starting to think something happened."

"Three's a tough chick," Callie said. "I'm sure whatever's holding her up, she'll get through it."

"I hope so."

"I'm looking forward to meeting this mysterious 'Three,'" Four said. "She's like me, right?"

Marie thought for a moment. "If by 'like me' you mean that she also recovered the Great Zapfish from DJ Octavio, then yes. If you mean 'like me' in any other sense of the word, then absolutely not."

"You mean she's not smart, good-looking, _or_ fun to be around?" Four said, faking a gasp. "How horrible! I feel so sorry for her!"

"You wish," Marie said with a roll of her eyes.

"Three's… a character," Callie said. "She can kind of be a lot sometimes, but underneath she's just a big softy."

"A big softy who could kick your ass and make it look like swatting a fly," Marie added.

"A big softy who could kick your ass but also gets defensive if you even suggest she feels a positive emotion."

"And also she doesn't tell anyone her name or where she lives or where she works or—"

"Okay, so she's got a lot of stuff going on," Four said, cutting Marie off. "I'm sure we'll hit it off, though."

Marie shared a look with Callie, and they both let out small laughs. "If you say so," Marie said.

There was a brief bout of silence before Callie perked up, shooting a finger gun at Marie. "Oh! Marie! That new duo that runs Inkopolis News reached out to our manager about a possible collab at some point."

"They did?" Marie cocked her head. "I know they've been getting really popular recently, but I have to admit I don't think I've ever sat down and listened to their music."

"It's pretty good," Callie said.

Four's jaw dropped. "Pretty good?! Try _amazing!_ Marie, I can't believe you've never heard any of Off the Hook's stuff!"

"Oh, so you know _Off the Hook,_ but you didn't know who I was?" Marie crossed her arms. "I see how it is, Four."

She rolled her eyes. "Are you still mad about that? You just don't have a very memorable face."

"Excuse me?"

"Not that its a bad face," Four quickly qualified.

Marie gave her a flat look. "Just forgettable."

Four shrugged. "I know what I said."

"You're the worst."

Four beamed at her. "But you love me!"

Callie snickered; Marie shot her a look. "Whatever. I'm going home. Callie, you sticking around?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I'ma take out some energy in the training area. I've had to do so many dumb interviews about my haitus; I just wanna smash stuff with my roller!"

Four hopped down from the bench. "Oh, lemme join you. Sounds like fun."

"Heck yeah!" Callie said, giving the younger agent a high-five. "Let's go beat up some training dummies!"

"Well, you two have fun," Marie said.

"Yeah! See you at home!"

"See you."

Marie watched them run off, then stepped back into Cuttlefish Cabin, once more approaching the radio. She pressed the transmit button. "This is Marie. Three, are you there? Come in, Three. This is Marie. Are you there Three? Please report back if you can hear this."

Her voice and the crackle of the radio static sung a somber duet for the next hour or so before she finally gave up, turning the device off and retreating back towards Inkopolis.

* * *

"_This… ie. …oo there? Come… is Marie… there Three? Please… fyou can… is."_

Oh, god, Three's head hurt. Oh, god, Three's back hurt. Oh, god, Three's legs hurt. Oh, god, Three's arms hurt. Okay this was getting her nowhere.

"…_hear me? …about you. It's… home… longer. Please… safe."_

Was that Marie? Dammit, the reception down here was shit. Actually, where exactly was 'down here,' anyway? Like, yeah, she'd fallen down the big hole, but where had she ended up?

She blinked her eyes open and oh, god, Three's eyes hurt. At least it wasn't bright here; that would've been torture. With a grunt, she pulled her aching body up onto its feet, and took stock. The first thing she noticed, besides all the pain, was that her inktank had shattered, and there was a big puddle of green ink pooled on the stone next to her.

That was very, very bad, but she may as well make the most of it. She turned into a squid and flopped into the puddle, letting a satisfied trill out of her gills as she felt her muscles sooth and her bruises wane. She soaked there for a while; the ink-eating microbes, thankfully, were much less dense all the way down here, so she was actually able to recover most of her strength.

Pulling herself out of the ink, she shifted back into her humanoid form and picked up her discarded hero shot. She'd have to rely on her raw ink sac from here on out; not impossible, but she'd have to be a lot more careful than she was used to. As long as she didn't get ganged up on, though, she should be able to just take things slow.

She took one look upwards before deciding that climbing out of here was _not _a viable option, and then turned to examine the metal wall that rose up the cave face in front of her. Her eyes caught on a large vent set into the metal; with a few grunts, she managed to rip off the grate, and it clattered loudly onto the Ravine's floor.

No turning back now. After all, this was presumably what she'd been looking for this whole time anyway. Three set her jaw, strapped her gun to her back, and crawled into the vent.

* * *

_Herya, juri, yu mirekerason… kire, hyari, yu riherahe nyurahera nunyera, unera, yurawera fimera NA… NIRE… JUTE… MIREKYARA HERYA… JURI… YU MIREKERASON—_

"Ah!"

She gasped in a mouthful of air, and the music cut out. She could hear traces of it echoing in the back of her mind, but couldn't quite grasp them.

Where was she?

…Who was she?

And why was that weird old guy with the beard staring at her?

She got the feeling that maybe she was a bit out of it at the moment.

* * *

**Days Later**

Pearl and Marina sat on Mt. Nantai, huddled around Marina's computer, which was in turn hooked up to a small portable satellite dish. It was a bit of a jury-rig, she wouldn't lie, but it got the job done.

"Nice job on that test, Agent 8," Marina said. "You're doing great. Just one more of those 'thang' things to go."

"Yeah! You got this!" Pearl cheered.

"Hang in there, alright, Eight? You'll be out of there soon." Marine took her finger off the push-to-talk button and let out a sigh. "This is awful."

"Uh, yeah, had you not picked up on that?" Pearl asked skeptically. "That's why we're helping her."

"I just wish we could do more. Like, get her out of there."

Pearl put her hand on Marina's wrist. "Hey. She'll make it out."

"I hope so. It's just, she's the first Octoling I've talked to in months. I know it's selfish, but I don't want to be the only one up here. It'd be so great to have another Octoling friend—and she seems so sweet! If… if she doesn't make it out, then—" She broke off.

"That's not selfish at all," Pearl said. "I'll bet she feels the same way about you."

Marina pursed her lips. "Do you think we should tell the Splatoon about this? No, no—they _just_ saved the Great Zapfish and got Callie back. They deserve a break. But if they could help…"

"What could they even do? Storm the place?" Pearl scoffed. "We have no idea where this dumb metro even _is."_

Marina thought about it a moment before relenting. "I guess you're right."

"Surprised?"

Marina laughed. "Oh, Pearlie." She reached out and grabbed Pearl's hand, intertwining their fingers. She turned and gave her a soft look. "I'm scared."

Pearl swallowed. "Yeah. Me too."

* * *

Three peeked her head out of the closet she'd been hiding in and stepped out into one of the cold, drab hallways of Kamabo. The security in this facility, she had long ago discovered, was incredibly lax. The 'guards' that wandered around were these weird discolored Octolings, but as long as you stayed out of their line of sight, they would just continue to mindlessly lope through the corridors. Was it unsettling as fuck? Sure, but at least it made sneaking around easier.

She hadn't been sleeping well these past few days. Or eating well. She just hoped she could escape soon and find Gramps; then they could put all this bullshit behind them.

At the moment, she was continuing her slow but steady ascent through the facility. She had managed to go unseen so far, but that meant she'd been forced to take her sweet time with it. She pulled up the blueprints on the CQ-80 she'd nabbed from one of the mutant octo guard things; she still had a ways to go, but it looked like there was a metro system on this level of the facility. Maybe she could sneak out on a train?

Well, it was worth a shot.

A loud mechanical whirr caused her to jump, but there was nobody in the room with her. Her eyes flicked over to one of the labs that was in this hallway—a little display screen above the door had shifted from 'on standby' to 'blending in progress.' She heard the sound of fluid hitting glass, and had to rip her eyes away from the observation windows.

_Not again,_ she thought with a shudder. _I can't take much more of this. I'm gonna throw up._

She shook her head and trudged forward; the sound of the blenders faded into the distance, but she could still hear them just as loud in her head.

"_Best of luck, Eight,"_ came Marina's voice. _"Hopefully we'll see each other soon."_

"_Heck yeah! I can't wait to meet you in person!"_ Pearl exclaimed.

Eight smiled. Sure, she didn't exactly know who she was, but Inkopolis would offer a new start. A chance to be whoever she wanted! Heh; maybe it really _was_ a promised land like the telephone kept saying. She couldn't wait to see the Sun.

"Beep beep! All aboard the promised land train!" called the telephone from on top of assembled Thangs. "No time to dawdle! Last one in is a [Slang_Not_Found]!"

"Looks like we better get going," Captain Cuttlefish said.

"Yeah," Eight breathed. "Let's go."

She stepped into the machine, the Captain close behind her. The door closed down in front of them, and the platform began lifting them upwards. Upwards, towards the surface; she couldn't help but smile like an idiot.

* * *

Three walked carefully across the glass roof, watching the trains meander from station to station. This sucked. She thought the subway would be her ticket out of this hellhole, but it looked like the whole system was entirely self-contained, which was just fan-_fucking-_tastic. Guess the only way out was to keep climbing. It'd be okay; she was Agent 3, the Inkling Menace. She'd get out of here or die trying.

Oh, god, she might die down here.

She shook her head. She couldn't let her mind wander. Whenever her son-of-a-bitch brain decided to take a stroll, it never ended well. Wasn't that the whole point of this fucking mission? To get her mind off its bullshit?

Ugh, she was such a dumbass. She'd take a date with Danny over this any day of the fucking week. _Idiot._ She was going to die down here in this gross research facility and god knows what was going to happen to her body, all because she was scared of having sex with boys.

With _a_ boy, she should clarify. Danny specifically, because he was an ass. Not _all _boys. She still liked boys. Probably. She was big enough to admit at this point that, okay, she probably also liked girls, but as long as she still liked boys then she didn't have to, like, _deal_ with that part of herself. Actually, maybe she'd just not date anyone ever again. Yeah, that sounded good.

_You're doing it again, Amy,_ she admonished. _Maybe I really will be able to escape this place, since I have all this damn practice running away from my problems._

She took a deep breath. If she—When she got back to Inkopolis, _something_ was going to have to change. She couldn't keep going like this.

Nothing like a traumatic experience in an underground body-horror research facility to give you a little life perspective.

"_BEEP! BEEP! _EMERGENCY DISTRESS! _BEEP! BEEP! _EMERGENCY DISTRESS!"

"Gah!" Three fumbled and pulled out her CQ-80. There was a distress signal being sent from just a station down. Three superjumped over, and gasped as she saw Captain Cuttlefish, along with some Octoling girl, standing in the middle of a whirling blender.

Oh no they _fucking_ didn't. Not him.

She didn't think, just moved. She heard the sound of glass shattering, felt her boots collide with something heavy, and then watched as the concrete station floor rushed up to meet her nose.


	31. 8-7: The Beginning

Three awoke to the sound of a blaring motor and whirring rotary blades. She groaned, reaching a hand up to the right side of her head; she had a massive headache there. Probably from crashing into that blender, she supposed. Maybe that hadn't entirely been the best move, but she hadn't really been given a lot of time to think it through.

"Oh," somebody said from behind her. Marina. "You're awake."

"God, it's so damn loud in here," Three grumbled, pushing herself up against a nearby wall. "Can't somebody turn that thing off? I've got a bitch of a headache."

"The helicopter?" Marina asked flatly. "You want me to turn the helicopter off?"

Three looked her dead in the eye. "You fucking heard me."

"I'm not dealing with you right now," Marina said. She wandered off into the cockpit, where Three could see Pearl's crown poking up over the passenger seat's headrest.

Well fuck her too, then, Three guessed. She sighed and looked around the cabin; Gramps was laying up against the wall opposite her, snoozing away, and the only other person around was the Octoling girl. She was sitting at one of the open cabin doors, legs hanging off the edge over the ocean. Her tentacles fluttered from the draft, catching the light in a mesmerizing way.

Three shook her head, walked over, and sat down next to the Octoling. She looked over at Three, went wide-eyed, and scooched away from her.

Uh. Okay. So she was afraid of her. Three could probably understand that; she was Agent 3, after all, and this was an Octoling soldier. But if they were going to be bringing her into the Splatoon, Three should probably try to be on good terms with her, right?

Three extended her hand. "Hey. My name's Three. Nice to meet you."

* * *

Eight looked at Agent 3's proffered hand. Why was she holding her hand out? Was this some sort of gesture of ceasefire?

"…Hello," Eight said after a moment. She held her hand out in the same way as Three: pointed straight out, parallel to Three's and a few inches away. "My name is Eight."

Three looked down at their hands with a sort of awkward confusion, then moved hers inwards, lightly grabbing Eight's. Oh—okay. What was happening? Eight wasn't sure. But now Three was moving their hands upwards, so Eight decided to go along with that. Inklings sure were weird.

* * *

As Eight kept moving their conjoined hands upwards and upwards, Three began to suspect, a little belatedly, that this girl did not know what a handshake was. Soon, their hands were well above their eye level, but Eight seemed content to continue in this direction until they ran out of room. Three's muscles were beginning to strain, though, so she let go of Eight's hand and pulled her own back.

Eight copied her actions like a mirror, moving her hand back down to her own lap. It was a little unsettling, and Three didn't really know where to go from here. "Uhhhhhhh."

* * *

After pulling her hand back, Three let out a low, guttural sound. Eight figured that at this point, this may as well happen; not wanting to be rude, she returned the gesture. "Uhhhhhhh."

Three looked uncomfortable. "Why are you copying me?"

"What?" Eight blinked. "But—I thought this was all part of your Inkling greeting ritual."

Three stared at her for a good few seconds. "No."

"Oh."

Now Eight understood why Three looked uncomfortable. She was also, in fact, uncomfortable with what was happening right now.

"So, uh." Three tapped her fingers against her knee. "You excited to see Inkopolis, then? I mean, unless you've… been there before. I know that you guys snuck into the city a few times, but… sorry."

"No, I haven't," Eight said. "At least, I don't think so. I kind of lost my memories of everything before Kamabo."

"Huh," Three said. "Er—sorry, I guess."

"Oh, it's—" Eight paused. Fine? No, it wasn't fine. "It's a thing," she said instead. "But, yes! I am excited to see Inkopolis! Pearl and Marina kept telling me so many cool things about it, like how you have clothes, and food."

"I—" Three looked like Eight had just said something horribly depressing, which was strange, because everything about the surface seemed to be the opposite of horrible and depressing. "Yes, we have clothes and food. But there's a lot more than just that. We've got, like, the internet, and video games—you need to see the arcade sometime. And, like, art galleries and shit, if you're into that, I guess? Sports? And fucking…" She paused. "I'm realizing that I don't actually do much. We've got, uh, museums?" She frowned.

"I don't know what any of that is," Eight said, smiling softly, "but I can't wait to find out."

* * *

Three was the last one to step out of the helicopter once it touched down by Cuttlefish Cabin, and she was greeted by the smiling faces of the Squid Sisters, along with an Inkling girl a couple years older than her in a skirt and a yellow hoodie that matched her short tentacles.

Immediately, she was tackled in a hug by Callie. "Three!" she exclaimed. "We were so worried! I'm so glad you're okay!"

"Yeah, I totally thought you'd kicked it," Marie droned.

Three tried to wriggle out of Callie's arms. "Unhand me, harlot."

Callie pulled back, but was still smiling. "Marie is also really glad you're okay," she clarified. "Since she won't say it herself."

"Yeah," Marie said. "That."

Three looked around; Cap'n and Agent 8 were talking with Off the Hook about something a little ways off, which left her alone with the Squid Sisters and… whoever this new girl was.

"Hey, who's she?" Three asked, pointing at her.

The girl waved cheerily. "Hi! I'm Agent 4."

Three narrowed her eyes. "Agent—" She whipped around to the Squid Sisters. "Did you replace me? Oh my god, you really _did_ think I was dead."

"What?" Callie looked horrified. "No no no! It's not like that at all!"

"Octavio broke out and stole the Great Zapfish while you were gone," Marie explained. "Also, he kidnapped and brainwashed Callie. So I needed someone to help out."

"Oh," Three said. "Jeez."

_You should've been here. Coward. You ran away when she needed you. Selfish._

She turned to Four. "Well, damn, I never thought I'd have a successor. First word of advice: Never trust the Squid Sisters."

"Hey!" Callie shouted.

Before Callie could voice any more of her protests, however, Cap'n Cuttlefish, Agent 8, and Off the Hook walked over to them. Three couldn't help but notice the way Eight hid behind Cuttlefish and Marina.

"Hey guys!" Pearl said. Shouted. "Since Eight's gonna be staying with us for a while, we're gonna head out and get her all situated. Also, I need to put my helicopter away."

"We should probably get going, too," Marie said. "I think I actually need to go grocery shopping. It's been a busy couple of weeks."

Callie shot her a pleading look. _"Please_ tell me we have Frosted Flakes."

Marie shrugged. "No clue."

"Okay, we're definitely going grocery shopping." Callie grabbed Marie's wrist and began dragging her off. "See you guys later!"

They all wandered away from the cabin in their various directions, and as the helicopter began to rise into the sky, Three found herself alone with Agent 4. She should probably, like, try to get to know her, right? If they were going to be working together and all.

"Hey, you wanna go to the training area and spar?" Three asked.

Four lit up. "Oh, totally! I always say, the best way to make new friends is by spilling their ink."

Three smirked. "Great. It's on, then."

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Four had called for a break. It was understandable; even Three, whose personal turfing record was twenty-nine hours straight, was growing a bit tired, though that was probably more due to the whole Kamabo thing than anything Four had done to her.

Three unslung her ink tank and lay down on the dirt of the training grounds, breathing heavily. Four slumped down next to her—Three could smell her sweat, but she was sure she was just as bad herself.

"Wow, you're…" Four stopped to huff. "You're really freaking good."

"Yep," Three acknowledged. "You know, you're not actually as bad as I thought you'd be."

"I splatted you _twice,"_ Four said.

"Yeah, exactly. That's infinitely more times than I was expecting."

"What made you think"—another huff—"that I would be bad?"

Three looked her over. "Mostly how you dress, to be honest."

Four shot her a glare. "Oh yeah? And how do I dress?"

"Like a liberal arts student working on her very promising YA novel crossed with my ex boyfriend."

"Okay." She frowned, now looking more confused than indignant. "I don't really know how to take that. Was your ex boyfriend a liberal arts student?"

Three snorted. "Not at all. He's mostly just an asshole."

"Right." Four snickered. "Sometimes I'm really thankful I don't have to worry about all that stuff."

"What do you mean?" Three asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, uh. I'm ace." Four paused at Three's blank look. "Asexual. Also aromantic."

"Right," Three said. Thank god for context clues.

"So I don't really have to worry about the whole… dating… thing," Four went on, waving her arm around.

"Must be nice."

"Sometimes it is."

Three tapped a finger against the dirt awkwardly. "Um. Do you mind if I…" She trailed off. "Fuck, nevermind."

"Do I mind if you ask me a question?" Four finished. She was smirking slightly.

"What are you, fucking autocomplete?"

She shrugged. "I've come out a lot. I know the patterns. And, no, I don't mind."

Three thought for a few moments before speaking. "How did you know?"

Four nodded and started talking immediately. She hadn't been kidding about knowing the patterns. "In high school, a bunch of my friends started dating, and that prompted me to wonder why _I_ was never interested in pursuing a relationship. And I mean… once you start asking yourself, 'Am I not straight?' then chances are you probably aren't straight."

"…Oh." Three frowned. "That seems way too simple."

Four gave her a curious look at that. "I mean, I glazed over a lot of self doubt and struggling with my identity, to be fair."

"Right." Three let her arms flop onto the ground, scattering some loose dirt.

"I think a lot of it is about having a good support system; that way, you can feel safe and comfortable enough to explore yourself," Four said after a moment. "And it looks like you have that in the NSS. So just take your time, keep an open mind, and you'll be okay."

Three bristled. "Um, since when has this been about me, huh?"

"Oh, right, my bad," Four said. "Just pretend I said all of that in the first person, and the 'you' was solely in the subtext."

They both went quiet for a few moments. Three thought back to that moment on top of the metro, when she'd promised herself that things were going to change. Maybe…

She sighed. Maybe she could start with this.

"I'm hungry," Three said suddenly, picking herself up. "I'm gonna go into the square and get dinner."

Four took the sudden subject change in stride, popping up from her spot on the ground. "Same. I'm starving after all that sparring. What were you thinking?"

Shit, she hadn't gotten that far. Also, she had been planning to eat alone. "Uh. Pizza?"

"Oh, sweet! Hey, I know this great place—their pineapple bacon pizza is just the _best!"_

Three stopped dead, and turned, slowly, to face Four. "Did… Did you…"

"What?" Four asked innocently. But, oh, she was anything but innocent.

"Did you say pineapple bacon?" Three asked cautiously.

"Yeah!" She smiled. The bitch _grinned._ "It's the best!"

"Oh my god." Three shuddered. "I'm sorry, but we can't be friends."

Four laughed and rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on. You can get whatever toppings you want, I just thought—"

"I'm not hungry anymore," Three said. "You ruined my appetite."

"Are you serious?" Four gave her a bemused look.

"I'm leaving. See you around, heathen." Three shifted forms and pressed herself against the ground, prepping for a superjump.

"Drama queen!" Four shouted after her as she rocketed through the sky.

* * *

A few days after their sparring session, Four had asked Three to get dinner with her for real this time, to make up for skipping out before. Three had begrudgingly accepted on the condition that they don't go out for pizza. Four had also invited Eight, since Pearl and Marina had been worried about how much she'd apparently stayed cooped up in their house; and since she still needed a chaperone that Marina actually trusted, Pearl was tagging along, too.

The four of them were currently sitting in some Tilapian restaurant that only Pearl knew, and that only Pearl could afford. The menu only had, like, six things, which Three guessed was a symptom of narcissism; they were convinced that their food was so good that they didn't even need to give you options. It was like only applying to one place during a job hunt, because you think you're so obscenely qualified for the position that it would be pointless to expand your options.

The look on the waiter's face when Three had ordered the pasta without the tomato, onion, mushroom, and broccoli had been some cross between astoundment and annoyance.

"So, just the sauce, then?" she had asked, as if it hadn't been obvious.

Fancy restaurants; Three swore.

Back in the present moment, Four was attempting to make small talk. "So how are you enjoying your time on the surface so far, Eight?" she asked.

Eight took a brief recess from shoveling food in her mouth to look up. She ate like a vulture: fast, and with no regard for sanitary or presentational concerns. Three respected the hell out of it. "Oh, so much! The food here is great!"

Pearl looked down at Eight's warzone of a plate with amusement. "Yeah, I can tell you like it."

"It's all a bit much, honestly," Eight went on. "There are so many things I've never seen before, or that I've forgotten. And—and it's so _colorful!_ Everybody's wearing all these different clothes and calling things 'fresh' or 'lame' and I don't understand."

"_Thank_ you!" Three exclaimed, taking the table a bit by surprise. "Finally, someone says it!"

"Uh, Three?" Four raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about fashion! It's so fucking dumb."

"Fashion's not dumb! It's a form of self expression!" Four protested.

"It makes no sense," Three argued. "It changes every week and half the time it looks stupid as hell. If I could convince a couple celebrities to take selfies of them wearing crumpled soda cans on their heads and post them on Squidstagram with the caption 'New look! Eco-friendly fashion is a Big Mood!' then I swear to god you sheep would latch on without a second thought."

Eight giggled from across the table.

Four crossed her arms. "That's a logical extreme."

"Don't even try to say you wouldn't be a canhead, Four. You'd jump on that bandwagon like a desperate hitchhiker."

Eight giggled harder, and Four fixed her with a look. "Eight, stop encouraging her!"

"But she's funny!" Eight said through her giggles.

_She's cute,_ said Three's brain. For once, she didn't try to shut it up so quickly. "See? I'm funny," she said instead, sneering at Four. "And fashion makes no sense."

Four crossed her arms. "Whatever. At least I don't wear the same pair of shorts every day."

"You—I—Shut up!" Eight started laughing harder, and Three, bright orange, looked away. "I'll have you know I own many pairs of the exact same shorts."

"That's somehow worse," Pearl said.

"They're _comfy_ and _practical,"_ Three insisted. "Having one outfit makes my morning routine much more efficient."

"It does sound easier," Eight admitted.

"See? Eight gets me. She hasn't been indoctrinated by the clothing industry."

"I can't believe this," Pearl said. "How could you take her side, Eight?"

"I'm _just saying,"_ Eight said, splaying a hand forward, "all that clothing you and Marina bought me can be really confusing. I think Agent 3 has a point."

Four mumbled something about aesthetics under her breath, while Three grinned triumphantly at Pearl. "Well, guess that settles it."

"Ugh. I'm not discussing this any further," Pearl said. "I never thought you two would get along so infuriatingly well."

"Me neither," Eight said softly, smiling down at her plate.

_She's cute,_ Three's brain said again.

Then she started ravaging her food again, which was less cute and more animalistic and terrifying, though still endearing in its own way.

* * *

Three stood at the edge of Arowana as she and Four watched Pearl drive off, Eight waving them goodbye from the passenger's seat. Three waved back, a small grin on her face. She couldn't seem to help it.

The dinner had gone fairly well, all things considered. Eight had slowly broken out of her shell over the course of it, which was good. Three was glad she didn't seem too terribly scarred from all that Kamabo business.

Four coughed. "Hey, so, you know how we had that big intimate discussion about sexuality like an hour after we met each other?"

Three froze, only just now realizing that she was still waving, even though Pearl's car had long disappeared. "Um. Yeah?"

"Any new developments on that front?" she asked.

Three sighed. "Am I that obvious?"

"Kinda," Four admitted. "Eight's definitely too new to Inkling culture to notice, though. You should be able to do this on your own time."

"I'm…" Three rubbed at her arm, looking away. "I'm still not sure if I'm comfortable with this."

"With romance in general, or being gay?" Three cringed a little at the word, and Four bit her lip. "Sorry. Well, like I said, you've got time to work it out. No rush." She moved to walk away, then paused, looking over her shoulder. "Oh, but if you do ever want to make a move, and you want a friend around for support, feel free to hit me up."

Three managed to brush off enough of the awkwardness to give Four a sly look. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Ms. Pineapple Pizza. We're not friends."

Four laughed. "Sure, sure. See you around, Three."

Three caught her eye with a tiny smile that she hoped conveyed the gratitude she wasn't willing to express aloud. "See ya."

* * *

**A few months later… **

Three sat on the bench outside Cuttlefish Cabin, staring at her phone.

"I can't do this," she mumbled.

"You can totally do this!" Four encouraged, sitting next to her. "You got this!"

"What if she turns me down?"

Four rolled her eyes. "Well, then it'll be kind of awkward for like a week, and then you'll get over it. You literally have nothing to lose here. Also, I don't think she'll turn you down."

"Alright, alright, fine. Jeez." She stared at her phone. Just… press call. Just do it. Come on, Three.

She sighed. "No, I actually can't do this, though, is the thing."

"You're hopeless."

"I'm well aware."

"Here, gimme."

Four reached out for Three's phone, but Three jerked it away, leaning over the bench's armrest. "Hey! Get your stubby little gremlin hands away from my property!"

"These stubby little gremlin hands are going to call Eight for you," Four said. "Unless you're too much of a _coward_ to do it yourself."

"I am! That's literally the problem here!"

"Well, it won't be a problem if you'd just give me the frickin' phone!"

Four lunged, and Three quickly pushed up against the wall of the cabin, holding her phone out of reach. Four crash-landed onto Three's lap with a soft 'oomph,' and then Three pushed her off, sending her tumbling to the porch.

"Ow! Rude!" Four rubbed at her backside, pouting up at Three.

"You know what else is rude? Trying to steal my phone."

"Look, will you just call her already?'" Four clambered back onto the bench. "We're getting nowhere with this."

"God, fine!" Three spat, pulling her phone back down in front of her face. Her finger hovered over the call button. "Four I can't do thi—"

Four nudged Three's elbow, and her finger hit call. The phone began to ring.

"Son of a—" Three took a deep breath, and put the phone up to her ear. "Thanks."

Four beamed at her. "No problem!"

After a second, the ringing got cut off, and Eight's voice chirped through the speakers. _"Hello!"_

"Hey, Eight, it's Three," Three said, trying her very best to stay calm. "How are you, uh. Doing?"

She cringed. Four gave her a double thumbs up, but Three could see in her eyes that she was also cringing, just internally. Three appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

"_Hey Three! I'm just sitting at my house. Pearl and Marina are out doing their routine propaganda videos."_

Propaganda? "It's called the news. Up here it's not actually propaganda." Four made a wishy-washy gesture with her hand, and Three added, "Debatably." That was fair; some of those sponsored messages really pushed the boundary. Especially those new GrizzCo ones. "Anyway, I, um, was actually calling to see if, maybe you, see, wanted to, uh—"

Four facepalmed. Three leaned back and pinched the bridge of her nose, hating herself more with each word she uttered.

"_Are you okay? You seem on guard. Are you in danger?"_

Oh, shit. "No, nothing like that. I just—" She took a deep breath. Four placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Look, I wanna go on a date with you maybe?"

The words fell out of her at terminal velocity. Eight didn't say anything right away, which made Three nervous, so she decided to just keep going. "To like the mall? We could like go to the arcade and eat lunch or something. Have you been to the arcade yet?"

"_What's that? It sounds fun."_

"Oh, it totally is. Well, mostly. Sometimes it's full of a bunch of fucking kids who don't understand how to take turns and scream all the time"—Four gave her a 'stop talking' gesture—"but that's usually only on weekends so we should be good."

Three pulled the phone away for a second to whisper, "It's true, shut up!" at Four. She brought it back to her ear just in time to hear Eight's response.

"_Well, I'd love to go!"_

Three felt a blush rise. "Oh, r-really? Great!"

A pause. _"Yeah! It'll be nice to see more of Inkling culture. And it's been a while since I last saw you."_

"Yeah, it has. Well, I'm super glad I didn't, like, freak you out or anything. I'll come by and pick you up tomorrow at 10, is that okay?"

"_Mmhmm! Should I bring some of that money stuff?"_

Three thought about it for a moment. "Uh, yeah, if you could just ask Pearl for some that'd be great. God knows she's got bank to spare. See you tomorrow!"

"_Bye!"_

Three hung up and slumped in the bench. "Oh my god that was so stressful."

"You did it!" Four exclaimed. She went in for a hug, then quickly thought better of it, and offered a high-five instead.

Three returned the gesture with a slightly dazed slap, then allowed herself a small smile. "I've got a date."

Four threw her hands up. "You've got a date! Am I the best wingwoman or what?"

"I just hope it goes okay," Three said, the doubt managing to creep back in.

"Are you kidding? You fought an army and then infiltrated and escaped a top-secret evil research facility. If you got through all that alright, then how bad could a single date possibly go?"

"I guess," Three said, getting up. "Well. I'm gonna head home. Thanks for… being here."

"Of course! What are friends for?"

"We're not friends!" Three called over her shoulder as she approached the grate.

"Oh come on!" Four shouted back. "Is this still about the pineapple bacon pizza thing?"

"And the rocky road ice cream! And your taste in movies! And that one hat you wore last week! And—"

"Weren't you leaving?!" Four yelled, kicking a rock across the clearing. "Go! Git!"

Three flipped her off, then flopped into the grate.

* * *

**A tad less than a year later… **

"_All that shit I went through as a kid, agreeing to save the Great Zapfish on a whim, bouncing from job to job, running from my identity—just, everything, all of my stories, they all—they all feel like setup. Just to lead me to you."_

Three's eyes blinked open. She saw shiny red tentacles in front of her, sensed a warm body next to hers, heard the early morning traffic on the streets below, and felt cold concrete under her body.

She groaned and rolled over, then felt her side dig against a hard stone corner. Ugh, what the fuck? She sat up—she was with Eight, on top of their apartment complex. Oh, right.

She nudged her girlfriend with her foot. "Hey, Eight. Wake up."

"Hnng?" Eight blearily rose from her slumber; she locked eyes with Three and smiled, then took stock of her surroundings. The smile disappeared. "…We fell asleep on the roof, didn't we?"

"Yeah," Three said with a snicker. "That's what we get for coming up here at like two in the morning. C'mon—let's get back inside."

They walked hand-in-hand down the stairwell and back into Three's apartment, passing by the half-eaten wedding cake on the kitchen counter as they entered the bedroom.

"We're not doing anything today, are we?" Eight asked.

"Nah," Three said. "Nothing that can't wait."

"Good." Eight grabbed Three's wrist and pulled her into bed, where they snuggled up against each other, the bed sheets tangling between their limbs.

"I hope you don't think I'm just gonna snuggle you all day," Three said, grinning into Eight's neck.

"We don't have to keep it to just snuggling," Eight said.

Three laughed a little. "Right."

"We've been through a lot," Eight said. "Like, sleeping on chilly rooftops because we're dumb, for example. I just want to spend some quiet moments with you."

"Mmm." Three hummed and scootched upwards on the mattress, pressing her lips against Eight's. It was a quick kiss, but Three sort of doubted it would be the only one they'd share today. "I love you," she said.

"Wanna make out?" Eight returned, under her breath.

Three laughed. She was never gonna live that one down. "Oh, shut up. And yes."

* * *

Whelp, that's that.

Holy shit guys, thanks so much for reading... all of this? Like, wow. I never expected to get this deep into this fandom-not even close-but I'm so glad I did. Operation 24 is coming close to its one year anniversary, and like, it's just been a huge part of my life for so long now. I had a ton of fun writing this, and I made so many amazing friends because of it. Thanks to everyone who favorited, or reviewed, or sent me asks on tumblr, and especially to those of you who've been fucking around on a discord server with me for a few months now. You're the real ones.

Good bye! It's been fun.


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